River of Dreams
by Doreen Tracy
Summary: Sam gets involved in an abusive relationship. Can Al save him? ADULT CONTENT


River of Dreams

By Doreen Tracy

I spotted him in frozen foods, between the Bird's Eyes' vegetables and Banquet TV Dinners. Or, should I say, he saw me. It was all silent communication; his eyes directionalizing towards the exit, suggestive gestures, done subltely, things I'd remembered from other such covert-and less intense-encounters.

I'd been home a year, almost to the day. Therapy with Dr. Beeks had changed the way I saw myself, and the world around me. She called it sexual confusion and a lot of other, longer words. What it all boiled down to was the fact that I, Sam Beckett, was a repressed homosexual. I'd been gay my entire life. This explained my lack of ease with girls in high school, and the easy time I'd had on the leaps when the relationship was not permanent. I felt love and caring for every person on those Leaps, but there was one person I may have felt closer to than anyone. It took coming home and being around him for days on end to realize it.

I was in love with Admiral Al Calavicci. After Bena made me realize my sexual orientation, among other things, I understood my strange longing to spend every second I could with Al. The shade was lifted from my eyes. I'd begged Bena to allow me my privacy, and she easily agreed, although worried that I might bury myself in the meantime. As far as the Project knew or cared, I was in the closet. I was straight. I was anything but the way I really felt.

One of the good things was that no one expected me to date. From the bits and pieces of my pre-leap memory, I recalled not dating or even an interest in women or men before I'd jumped into the Accelerator. My mind had been into what I'd been trying to do, channeling my sexual energy.

Bena didn't know about Al and I never told her. I lived with stray glances at him when he wasn't looking, taking in his body and trying to wonder what it would be like to hold him near me. One good thing was that he was indulging my need to touch him. He'd smile in his way, returning the embrace. I'd bury my face in his hair, tasting and sensing every bit of him and realizing he'd not even know it.

Once the initial corrolations were done, I had to wait. I hated waiting. Ziggy might take months to move me onto the next step, whatever that was. Our idea was to make PQL an enviornmental concern. The government, at that suggestion, was enthusiastic. I'd sufficently proven myself. It would take them another six months to readjust the situation. Al told me it would give me a chance at a real vacation.

I spent a month with my family. That went smoothly until Tom took me out to a bar to celebrate and I was nearly picked up by a stranger. A man. It was as if they could sense I was one of 'them', and it frightened me at first. What was even more curious was that the initial fear became fascination and curiosity. After Tom's disparaging remarks regarding my potential 'date', calling him an AIDs carrying fag, I decided it would be for the best if I kept my mouth shut and go home as soon as possible.

Once I got home, I started going to bars. Santa Fe was a good place, with it's fairly liberal attitudes. My first encounter was there, with an older man, dark hair, blue eyes. Reminded me of Al by attitude only. By silent agreement, we went to my hotel room. He told me I was beautiful, gorgeous and golden, petted and preened over me until I felt I was about to explode. Actually, I was terrified, and he knew it. I think it was a turn-on for him, my fear. Once he'd taken his clothing off, he crawled up on the bed and held me in his arms, gently touching my body until I felt his hand warm on my cock. It took a few smooth strokes to make me come, gasping in this stranger's arms. Taught me a lot of lessons those two weeks we were together, but made it clear he wanted no permanent attachments.

He taught me the silent agreements, the secret codes. What felt good, and how to make it feel better. Before our time together was over, I knew quite a few tricks, and that my orientation was one that I liked and wanted.

For the most part, I kept to myself and out of town, away from places where I was recognized. It still happened, but, due to the top secret nature of PQL, not as often as it had before the leaps. I was damned careful, insisting always safe sex, never being an idiot about that, not now. Maybe on the leaps I'd been careless a few times, out and out stupid, as Al and Bena had told me. Now, I was careful.

After a few weeks of dating, sex, and basically staying home alone a lot, I decided to try to abstain. Possibly sinking my mind into something besides this new experience might help. First of all, I had to stock up on groceries, and that is what led me to the store that night.

I'd heard about pick ups in grocery aisles, but this was insane. Every cashier, the manager, even some of the customers, knew me. Pushing my cart through the check out, I watched him from the corner of my eye. Persistant, waiting for me by the exit. Well dressed, silk slacks, expensive shirt, fresh hair cut. Dark hair and brown eyes. He looked hungry...and faintly menacing.

When the girl had finished flirting with me and packing my groceries I looked up to find my mystery gone. Disappointment unreasonably filled me. Jesus, I didn't want to have sex with the guy, I thought, shouldering my bag of staples. Probably a mistake anyway.

It was nearly midnight-better to shop at this hour when it wasn't so crowded. I stuck my car key in the drivers side of my hover car and froze as I saw his eyes reflected in my side mirror.

"Drive home. I'll meet you there." His voice was velvet, his eyes even more so. His black hair was pulled back from his slender face, the tail lying carelessly over his shoulder. Everything about this one spelled 'dancer'-delicate with great hidden strength. In a way he frightened me nearly as much as my first one had. Silk in a leather glove, I thought, watching him give me a confident look as he strode away.

"And what if I don't?" I replied softly, feeling my mouth going dry as I said the words.

Turning quickly, briefly, he grinned at me, his eyes bright in the street lamp light. "You will," he said casually. Then, he simply strode to wherever his car was parked.

Once I reached my house, fairly secluded and miles from town, and pulled into my drive, I saw that a unfamiliar car was parked in front of my place. He was sitting on the hood, half-smiling as I pulled into the garage. Without a word, he pushed himself off the car and took the bag of groceries from me as I unlocked the front door, even going so far as to unload them for me in the kitchen. I watched the entire operation, wondering what I should do next? Call the cops, or let him seduce me?

That grin again. I watched warily from a kitchen stool as he went over to the stereo, selected a CD, and started it. The Doors-"Hello, I Love You." Appropriate. Sliding across from me on another stool he stared at me with a hot gaze that said volumes.

"You seem to have made yourself right at home," I finally said. "Do you mind if I ask what the hell is going on here?"

"You don't need to know much," he said, taking a pear from the bowl of fruit I kept on the counter and biting into it. His accent was Brit, I thought, his features in the clear light handsome and as fine as I had previously observed. "I know what you need, Sam." Another bite into the fruit, taking half of it off the core with one tear. "Saw you before, in Santa Fe, and other places. Did some asking about you. Lawrence told me you were looking for a mate. I'm it."

"You seem pretty sure of yourself." Despite his cockiness, I was beginning to like him. "What if tell you to take a hike?"

"You were at the Roadhouse the other night. I watched you for six hours. You drank five drinks, turned down three liasons, and left before four a.m. Alone. You're not into the bar scene, Sam."

"You know my name-what's yours?"

"Michael."

"And," I replied, "I'll repeat myself. What if I told you to get lost?"

That grin again. Confident, sure as hell of himself and what he wanted. I was starting to get damned nervous. I could defend myself against this if necessary, but my body didn't respond to the instant panic as he came around the counter. With one fluid movement, he hurled me off the stool, onto the floor, and was on top of me in a second. My ribs heaved with every breath I took as he forced his mouth on top of mine, and held me down with his hands. His nails were pressing into my skin, his teeth and tongue making fast work of my mouth. When he finally released me, I was gasping for breath and tasted blood. My own.

"Let's get one thing straight, Sam," he said, seated firmly on my chest. "I'm staying. You need it and you want it. Stop the act and accept it. You need someone in control, as it were." His hand splayed over my shirt, then gripped the fabric, jerking it open, exposing my skin to the warm air. Leaning down, he bit my chest, just a nibble, but enough to let me know he meant business. The bites turned to sucking and easy licks, all the way down to my waist and back up again. Suddenly, he gripped me by my hair, jerking my mouth up to his and taking it with his. Literally, he sucked the air out of my lungs. I could barely gasp before he had forced me to my feet and was nearly dragging me to the bedroom.

It was as if all the lovemaking with men before had been nothing-not compared to this. Maybe he was right. I needed fine control, and someone who seemed to know me better than myself. His eyes were dark, staring at me from the bed. "Take off your clothes," he stated.

My fingers fumbled at the buttons of my shirt, the zipper of my slacks. Numbly, I took it all off, then stood before him. With a nod, he let me know he approved of what he saw and patted the bed next to him. Swallowing hard, I slid where he bade, and waited as he pulled his own clothing off.

"You're mine," he said. "I'll blind you to anyone that comes near you." As he spoke, his fingers caressed my skin, slowly wrapping around my half aroused cock. "You'll be grateful for my presence in your life. I know who you are, Sam Beckett. I know everything about you. I know who you love, and who you want."

"What..."

"No words." His hand came up, pressing gently against my lips. You love and want only me, Sam. Is that understood?"

I don't know why I nodded. Maybe it was because I needed control again, and this dark stranger attracted me more than I could admit. His strength, the way he forced and bullied me down to a level I wanted to be at. The moment I acquesed to him, he forced himself down against my mouth again, I accepting it wholeheartedly, opening my lips and soul to this darkness that threatened to flood into me.

Pressing me down against the linen sheets, he cupped one hand around my throat and kissed me as if to make a lasting impression. I knew the next morning I'd have bruises and aches in places I had never had a problem with before, if this was any indication of how our lovemaking would go. The roughness I'd never experienced with any of my former lovers before. He held me like a possesion, his mouth gasping as he came up after the third bruising kiss.

When his mouth finally reached my cock I felt as if I were about to explode. He sucked me off, taking my entire organ into his mouth as if to swallow me whole. With a scream I gave him my seed, tears forced from my squeezed shut eyes as I came. In a way, he was like a black panther, attacking my body with the abandon of something wild. No place that he touched went unbranded by his hands or mouth. I felt entirely in his control and didn't fight against it.

Pressing the whole of his body against mine, I felt his cock hard and hot against my thigh. Up to that time, I'd avoided back door sex, not wanting or seeing a need for it. It frightened me, that it would hurt like hell was only part of it. There was something dark and alien about it. When he rolled me over onto my side, my backside pressed against his belly I started to fight against it.

"Posession is nine tenths of the law," he said gratingly, jerking me hard against him. I gasped again, closing my eyes as he pressed his hand against my ass. Something warm and slimy slipped against my crack, one long finger probing into me. "You've never had sex this way, have you, Sam?"

"No." I couldn't lie to him-something instantly forbade it. I swallowed hard in fear.

Strangely, his entire manner changed the moment I admitted that. The probing grew gentle, as did his voice. "Don't be afraid," he whispered against my ear, the warm breath tickling me as he spoke. "It'll hurt, but I'll make it good for you-I promise."

Closing my eyes I let him touch me, trying to relax into it as much as I could. One finger was fine, but two were almost intolerable. I felt his length against the back of my thigh and half wondered how I could handle it. His tongue was making slow circles against my neck. Sighing, I fell into the touches and strokes, my eyes fluttering as his touch made me forget the pain and only want the heat.

When he finally pressed into me with his cock, I was well lubricated. The first penetration hurt, making me cry out. Softly, he pulled me against his chest, kissing my cheeks and shoulders as he eased even deeper into me. Sobbing from the pain, I allowed it, then cried out as he reached to my very soul, bumping precariously against my prostrate and sending me into orbit. Alternately, I cried out for him to stop, and then, not to-ever. When the sex was over, I knew he possesed me, body and soul, just as he'd said he would.

When I awoke the next day, he was gone. For a few minutes I wondered if I'd dreamed it all, but the evidence was there; long strands of black hair against the pillow sham, and a letter.

"Sam," it read. His handwriting was clear and clean. "I will return later. Expect me around four. Michael."

The commanding tone of the message made me bristle a little. Defying him. What if I did, I thought? To me he was simply a stranger I'd met in a shopping center, nothing-another one night stand. At that thought I felt myself cringe, wondering what I was becoming.

As I moved from the bed to the bath I instantly regretted my decision to leave that soft warmth of blankets and sheets. Every muscle and tendon screamed out in protest. Parts of my body ached worse than ever, especially the small of my back and rectal areas. As I gazed in the mirror over the sink, I counted three bruises on my throat, a bite mark on my chin, my hair tangled and tousled past the point where a simple comb through would do the trick.

Soaking in the hot tub helped with the muscular aches. I casually considered leaving an empty house for Michael when he came. There were other possibilities I could explore-movies, a trip to somewhere in the car. But.

That was the worst of it. 'But.' Making love with him, well, had been eye-opening, intense, and completely controlled. With his cool, slim fingers he touched me in places and ways...wrapped his streamlined form around me and held me carefully while we made love. Like smoke, I thought, from a banking fire.

What really made me wonder was how he knew so much about me. With my first lover, Lawrence. I'd said far too much and realized that now. Apparently, he'd told Michael most of it. This man seemed to know exactly how to push buttons with me, and which ones made me take notice and which ones made me scream for more.

Drawing more hot water into the tub, I returned to my thoughts. Thinking about what I was doing was a luxury I'd not had for a long time. Bena had told me to stop for a while, to think about the consequences and maybe try to find a single, steady silence for while. Let my new life settle around me. Jokingly, she'd said I was craving control and refused to allow myself to be the controller.

Maybe she was right. Maybe that was why I wanted Michael-and why he was drawn to me.

Once I'd soaked, I dressed, made a light lunch, cleaned house, did laundry, watched two or three hours of tv, and basically bided my time until Michael came back. We'd have to have a talk, I knew. This whole thing was going far too fast for me.

I debated calling Al. My hand rested on the phone once or twice before I remembered that he'd gone out to Phoenix with Tina for the duration. He'd promised to leave a message when he came home, and the machine had none on it. My throat closed as I thought about the distance between us now, mental and physical. Regardless of Tina or any of his women, I still loved Al. When we'd done the corollation, and discussed Tommy and the leap into the gay situation, Al had been more than uncomfortable. We'd gone through Ziggy's readout, but little else on that one. I'd almost been relieved to go home and part from him that night. Come to think of it, I think he felt the same. It embarrased him, I thought, to even think of me leaping into a gay person. How in the name of God could I ever tell him I was one of 'them'.

I couldn't and wouldn't. He was the only reason I was in the closet. Losing his friendship would kill me, literally. Maybe I couldn't make love to him, but I could be near him. If that was taken from me I'd want to be dead or back in the Accelerator.

Four o'clock came and went. By six I was fit to be tied. Eight thirty and I was practically enraged. The meal I'd prepared for us grew cold. I was far too pissed off to eat any of it.

Finally, all the anger boiled off into worry. Maybe it had been a dream, or wishful thinking. A night for him to grab his piece of ass and then leave me with the memory. That thought sobered me.

If I had a phone number or an address, where I could go looking for...Literally, I knew nothing about him! From his accent, I judged he was British. Other than that, and his reference to Lawrence, I knew squat.

During a rerun of some late night talk show I finally fell asleep on the couch. My sleep was deep and dark, dreaming mistily of some place where Michael and Al were one person, their lips touching me, strolling in my hair and down my back.

Someone WAS touching me-fingers stroking softly against my lips and hair. Half in and half out of a dream, I half thought it was Al-the way he'd touch me in my fantasies. "Al..." I mumbled, moving into the questing fingers, smiling.

"It's Michael," he said, his voice failing a bit on his name.

Stunned, I immediately woke. The forest green eyes met mine, unaccusing and slightly, dare I say it, concerned. "You said four," I said, moving away from his caresses. "Where the hell were you?"

Hurt touched his face for only a moment, then a mask. "I was distracted," he said, not in the least apologetic. "An old lover, paying a visit." His hand snaked out and grabbed mine the moment I pulled away from him. Our eyes locked for a moment, then I saw the faint reddening on his cheek.

"What the hell..." I frowned. As I lightly touched the mark, he flinched away from my fingers. There was more; bruises around his slender wrists, finger marks on his arms and throat... "Paying you a visit," I gasped. "Looks as if he almost killed you."

"He wanted a taste and I wasn't willing," he grimaced. "Did you worry about me?"

"Yes, damn it!" I was through with the games. Yes, I knew he was nearly nothing to me, a stranger, but there was a deeper attraction than I'd felt before. He wasn't Al-but I wasn't about to lose him. "I think you ought to stay here tonight."

"People might..." He grinned, flicking me a look from behind the hair that hung over his face. "I know you're firmly entrenched in the closet."

"And how would you know that?"

"At the store you seemed to go along with the flirty little cashiers. A good act, but it didn't fool me. Fooled them, no problem." His hand came up, gently caressing my face briefly before it fell back to his side. "Who're you trying to hide from, Sam?"

It was odd enough that he'd known that much about me, but, considering my chain of thought before I'd fallen asleep, I was left gaping after that. Once I'd recovered enough to notice he was grinning at me, then wincing when he discovered that the expression hurt, I pulled myself together.

I was amazed that he was as cooperative as he seemed to be, accepting my doctoring of his injuries with little complaint. Aside from the superficial cuts and bruises, he had sprung ribs and some other damage that would cause him considerable pain for a few days, or even weeks. "What did he hit you with?" I asked, strapping up the last of it.

"A metal bar," he gasped, gritting his teeth. "That Club that he used to keep his 'Vette from being pinched. I managed to get in a few licks of my own, so never you mind."

"I mind plenty. How do you know so much about me, Michael?"

A snort of laughter left him as he eased over so I could check his back. "Ah, that's it, mate? You manage to get me into a comprimising position so you can ask me leading questions?"

My hand strayed down his bare back, just moving barely shy of his ass. "Might be, Michael. Do you want something to drink?"

"Tea. White and sweet."

The Earl Grey was fragrant, the cookies some I'd gotten at the market when I'd met this man. Sitting down on the floor with him and the 'tea' I felt more like I was entertaining a guest than a potential lover. The state of total confusion I was in made my head ache. "Why me?" I finally asked, taking a sip of the hot brew.

"You need a hand out of the closet-and, according to Lawrence, you need someone near your own age to grow old with."

That was a new one. "Being in the closet is my personal choice. I'm not a member of Act Up, or any other radical group. I beleive we are all allowed our personal choice on how to live our lives."

"So, who is Al?"

My head snapped up at that question, instantly suspicious. "I don't think..."

Returning with a confident, sly smile, he took another sip of his tea. "I take it he's the reason you're in the closet? Admiral Calavicci, Navy Hero." Totally oblivious to my anger...or leeching off of it, he continued. "How is the old man in bed, Sammy Boy? Nice tight ass, I bet, like all his type. Maybe he doesn't like boys...maybe he..."

My cup fell to the floor as I scrambled to my feet. "What the hell do you know about it? Where the fuck do you get off talking about or knowing so goddamn much! Who the hell are you?"

"You'll have to earn that. You're in love with Calavicci. He's straight, you're gay. If he finds out, you will lose him. Period. Yourprecious top secret project goes with it, I bet." He waved off my anger with near disdain. "You need me, Sam. I'm determined to keep you, and it would suit your best interests to keep me in your pocket. Sit down and finish your tea."

Why did I bend so quickly to his orders? I did as told, watching him every moment. "What kind of game are you playing, Michael?"

"I like games. Now, that things are civil again, I'll answer some of your questions." He rested back on his elbows, flicking his hair back with a turn of his head. "My name is Michael McAllister. By profession, I'm a certified public accountant. I free lance for small businesses and indiviguals, have what they say is an impressive stock portfolio. I support myself and ask nothing of anyone in the financial department. You'll find me rather handy around tax time."

"And how do you know so much about me?"

Returning the cup to the kitchen, he gingerly eased himself behind me, warm fingers easing into my tense neck and back muscles. "Lawrence. You told him your life story. Just so happens I saw you in a bar that he and I frequent. We're mates, he and I. Said you needed this and that, figured the two of us were a match and told me to go for it. I'd seen you in magazines some years ago, but had heard you'd pretty much dropped off the map. This Project you seem so fond of."

"My number one priority," I said, my mood darkening more than it already was. "Don't forget that."

"Certainly not," he said, with a touch of sarcasm. "Lawrence made it quite clear that I'd have to compete with that and your Admiral."

"He's not 'my' Admiral," I snapped. Before I knew it, I had his wrist firmly in my hand, squeezing til he winced. "Enough of that shit. You plan on staying with me, he stays out of discussions. Understood?"

"Showing your mettle?" The pools of green darkened to near black. In the instant I saw the change, I found myself slammed back against the floor, one iron hand pressing over my throat, just enough to make me gasp for air. "When it comes to the Admiral, I'll follow your wishes," he gritted, his eyes dead even with mine. "Other than that, I play the harp, my gorgeous man. Is that understood?"

The hand on my throat loosened just as his mouth came over mine, gently plying me open with his tongue. Releasing me, I saw a smile in his eyes, a supremely satisfied expression. "What kind of game is this, Michael?" I managed.

His eyes and grin grew cold as I said the words. "Careful what you say, Sam. I like games-and some of them are ones I'd rather not play with you. Now is decision time. I stay or go."

Oddly enough, the near choke hold, the kiss, even the coldness of his tone, made me want him in more than a sexual way. It was a goal, I realized, something to fight for, and someone, who in a strange way, needed me nearly as much as I needed him. "I want you, Michael," I said. "I want love, too. Do you love me?"

The answer was another hard kiss, urgent, then relaxing, until I was nearly weeping from the ache building in me. I never got my answer that night, or any other one in the next six days. Most of the time we spent making love, each time somehow binding me closer to him. One moment he could have me fearing for my life, then the next, bringing me to the brink of urgency and sexual ache. I did need him.

We both decided to maintain our households, but Michael would live with me quietly, keeping everythin very discreet. Since my house was far out of town and distanced from other homes, and larger, it seemed the best arrangement. When we'd unpacked most of it and deposited the majority of his things in the guest room, I went to make a light dinner. The next morning was to be my first day back at work, and I was looking forward to it.

Once dinner was over, I went into the living room to get some work together for the next day. Michael had been quiet through the meal, and was watching me carefully now. Like a cat about to pounce on a mouse. His all black ensemble accented that thought.

Finally, I grew weary of the stare. "What is it?" I asked in exasperation.

"Al called. Left a message. Said for you to call him back."

"I told you that was off limits."

"My number as well, now, or do you forget? That is," he added, "Until I get my own number installed. You going to call him?"

"What is it to you?" The news surprised me, that he'd even called, but annoyed me at the same time. "Stay out of it!"

Gasping, I found myself slammed up against the wall, nose to nose with danger, a long length of silk tangled in my hand. CLosing my eyes, I swallowed hard as his free hand grasped and held my cock through my slacks. "What was that, Dr. B? Stay out of what?"

"Michael..."

"I'm going to make love to you, Dr. B."

"And if I refuse?"

"You won't."

Dragging me into the bedroom, he had little resistance on my part. Before I realized what was happening in my lust clouded mind, he had me stripped and on my back on the bed, being kissed and stroked until I could barely breathe. My hips started thrusting in a way I knew was the beginning of uncontrollable lust.

In the middle of the intensity, he abruptly stopped, pulled the cordless phone from the night stand, and set it on my chest.

"Call him," he ordered, no nonsense.

"You have to be kidding," I gasped.

"I'm not." Deftly, he punched in the number. I assumed he got it from th elog I kept by the phone in the living room. Forcing my hand apart, he slipped the phone into my fingers and started moving down my body.

The moment Al answered the phone, his lips touched the crown of my cock.

"Hello?" Al's voice was sleepy. "Hello?"

Head lifting, Michael gave me a warning look. I knew that expression-obey or risk being hurt. "Al, it's Sam." As I spoke, his mouth moved back down to my cock, sucking desperately, his fingers slipping into me with every movement.

"You sound like hell. I was crashing early-didn't figure you'd be calling me after eight. Want to meet for breakfast tomorrow?"

Michael's mouth grew more urgent. It took every bit of control I had left to not cry out over the phone. His dark eyes lifted a moment, dancing with amusement at my predicament. I wanted to kill him. "God, Al, I have to go. Call me in the morning, okay?"

"Sure, kid." I hadn't realized how much I'd missed him until he'd called me that. "Around seven, okay?"

"Great." I had to grit my teeth over a gasp as Michael nipped at my hard cock. He was enjoying this. I felt only shame. "Night, Al." I knew it would bother my friend, but I had no choice but to hang up abruptly. As the phone fell to the floor, I came, screaming out Michael's name like a curse.

"Damn you!" I said, rolling away from him when he released me. "What is in your fucking head?"

"You didn't like that?" I hated that cloying tone in his voice. He was toying with me, enjoying every moment of my discomfiture. "I want to make love to you, Dr. B. As Al. Call me his name."

"Fuck you!" His hand came down, hitting me hard across my jaw. I was sure to have a good bruise. "You can forget it, Michael."

"Isn't he the one you really want, Sam?" His hand came up, gripping my face hard and holding my gaze with his. "Isn't he?"

"Yes." I closed my eyes, knowing I'd signed my fate for the evening. Up to now, Michael had barely mentioned Al's name since my initial outburst and anger about it, but now..."He's the one I want, Michael." I couldn't lie to him.

"Call me by his name."

"It's not fair, Michael. I'm making love to you."

"Close your eyes, Sam." His fingers touched each eyelid. "Live the game, Sam. It's a game-I told you I loved games, remember? This game is where I am your Al. Your Admiral." His voice was growing softer with each word. "He kisses you-like this."

Pressing his mouth over mine, I automatically opened my lips for his touch, letting my mind drift and imagine it was Al. Danger signals briefly flared, but Michael's gentle urgings pushed me over the edge into the fantasy he was creating for my benefit. Breaking away from me, he turned off the lights and the room was plunged into blackness. I had an active imagination for the rest of the night.

Seven a.m. the phone rang. Rolling over grudgingly, I grabbed the cordless, falling back on the pillow. It was some comfort to see Michael cuddled next to me, watching my every move like a predator eyes it's prey. "Hello?"

"You said to call." Of course it was Al. "Want me to pick you up or are you driving in?"

"Pick me up," I decided, glancing worriedly at Michael. All he did was roll over and burrow deeper. Thank God I'd managed somehow to wear him out as well last night. "I'll be ready in half an hour."

"Make it twenty minutes," Al shot back. I realized that he was in his car, and probably on his way here right now. "I'll see you, Sam!"

I cleaned up quickly, running a comb through my hair and generally pulling on clean clothing that wasn't too badly wrinkled. Michael was deeply asleep, or so I could tell, and probably would cause no problems as long as I kept the bedroom door shut should Al come into the house.

Michael's car was in the garage, that door closed. When Al finally pulled into the driveway, I jumped in less than a second later, answering his questioning look with a grin. If my eyes were bloodshot, the sunglasses I wore hid them nicely. Still, he looked at me as if I'd grown a second head.

"You look like you went two rounds with the Champ, Sam." His frown was concerned. "Did you get in a fight or something?"

"Something," I managed, leaning back in the passenger seat of the Whisper. "What's on the agenda today?"

Backing out of the drive, Al kept one eye on the road and the other on me, still frowning. "Well, breakfast, to start. Then we go over the corollation with the Committee and see if they still want us to keep PQL as is, or change it. I'm sure you have your ideas."

"A few." Actually, I'd not been thinking so much about my work. Maybe meeting Michael and taking my vacation had been a good idea. "Possibly something enviornmental, I think. Can we go straight to work? The cafeteria is still open, right?"

"Fine, if you want rubber eggs and coffee that tastes like it was brewed in a boot." Al gave me another odd look. "You don't act like you missed me all that much. What's up, kid?"

"I had a long vacation," I replied. "Did some travelling around, and had a few...experiences." My vision shifted to the window and the passing scenery. "And, yes, I did miss you." The admission was in a near whisper, but I knew he'd heard it.

"I went to Vegas. Needed the break." The sound of gravel as the Whisper touched down made me snap back to reality.

"Breakfast."

"I thought..."

"We used to eat breakfast at Molly's every morning, Sam." A little hurt crept into his voice. "Biscuits and gravy, scrambleds, toast...all your favorites. Maybe even some of those Belgian Waffles..."

My stomach growled in memory. "With strawberries and syrup," I grinned. It didn't take much persuasion to get out and indulge in Molly's.

Throughout the meal and even as we drove the short distance to the Project, I caught myself staring at him. Those calm, dark eyes, the way his hair curled against his neck, his strong hands confidentally gripping the steering wheel. I had it bad, and no amount of Michael's fantasies would assist me with this problem.

It was good to get back to work. Once I sat down with Al and went over the paperwork, I realized that besides the physical attraction, I knew that he and I were a perfect team. What I didn't know, he made up for, and vice versa. We could laugh together over the most mundane of situations, or a shared experience. Even through the light moments, I realized he was concerned about the bruises he must see, and I tried very hard to dig up some easy explanation that would be perfectly logical.

"I fell off my house."

"You did what?" He nearly fell backwards out of his chair.

"I was doing some repairs and fell. Rolled and barely caught myself on the way down. Nasty hit against my face, but I'm fine, really. I knew you were worried."

"Sure I'm worried. You look as if you went through a bar brawl." Leaning forward, he took my hand and gently turned it over, frowning at the bruise against my left wrist. "Really took a tumble, didn't you? Maybe you should go see the doc."

"I'm fine," I snapped, just a bit too sharply. "You keep forgetting I'm a doctor."

"Fine, just checking, Sam." That hurt look again. What made it worse was the lie I'd just told Al, and realizing he'd bought it. Sam Beckett didn't lie.

After that, with every passing minute, I felt my guilt grow, like Pinocchio's nose. I mumbled my way through an excuse to go to the bathroom, and tore from his office, making a quick escape.

Not quick enough, however. "Wait one minute, Sam Beckett!"

Verbena Beek's stood by her office, just down the hall from Al's. Sheepishly, I faced her. She'd left at least fourteen messages at the house, even coming by once when Michael and I were out.

"I'm sure you have a semblance of an explanation."

"None," I said bluntly, trying to steer around her. What I wanted to do was run, and run fast. "We can talk later."

"Like hell. In my office now, or I'm going to call Al and have a real talk."

"That is blackmail, Doctor."

"Maybe." She pushed open her office door and waved me in. "Now!"

Reluctantly, I entered. "Al and I were in the middle of the corollation," I said. "I don't have that much time right now to..."

"You used to have plenty of time for me, Sam." Sitting on the edge of the desk, she crossed her arms and waited. "We were discussing explanations and why a person who has been perfectly punctual and considerate most of his adult life suddenly turns rude and inconsiderate."

"I suppose you're talking about me."

"Who else? What's with the bruises?"

"I fell off my roof."

"A cold day in hell. Al might buy that, but I won't. I want to know the truth, or I'm calling him in here."

"Patient/doctor confidelity. You can't do that."

"Try me." Her expression was impassive. "I won't do it, but I want to know what you've been doing all this time you've been home. Part of this vacation was so you and I could get some of the leap experience out in the open. You've been avoiding me like the plauge and I'm purely pissed off about it. Talk to me."

"I...met someone." She kept watching me, wanting more, I was sure. "I've been spending most of my time with him, helping him out. Can we talk later, Bena? Seriously, I have a lot of work to do."

"Did he strike you?"

Pushing up from my chair, I turned and launched out of the office. I hated psychiatrists, and, in particular, psychiatrists that were your friends and could see inside as well as out. Hauling ass down the hall, I ignored her shouts for me to come back, and even Al's curious worried sounds. All I wanted to do was find a hole and dig in for a while.

The secondary Control area was the best bet. It was far below the desert floor, had about six hiding places I could easily have privacy in, and plainly was my territory and no one elses. It was a place to think. Sliding in a CD of some classical piece, I slid down against the wall of my office, the door solidly locked and coded, and tried to get around the worried voices in my head.

The voices worked their way into an angry whine, then fury. Gripping my head between my hands, I discovered that the screams were coming from my own throat. The encounter with Bena, the incident with Michael last night, and maybe even being back at the Project after such a long break was easing me over the edge. For no explicable reason, I started to cry. Once the dam burst, I let it flow, wrapping my arms around myself and tucking my knees practically up to my chin. I hated the me I was becoming, but in a twisted way, I loved Michael. I knew he was molding me, changing me the way Bena saw things happening. I could run from the rushing river, or rejoice in it's wildness.

Through my tears, I heard Al at the door. He sounded worried and the beginnings of angry. Bena, too, I realized, was putting her two cents in. What I could barely remember was pushing the bathroom door shut behind me, and locking it. Whether they tried to get in was inconsequential-I couldn't stop crying long enough to let them in should they try.

It seemed like hours, but was more like minutes. What I did remember was feelings and sensations; Bena and Al, arms around me, a cold washcloth pressed to my face, and an overall feeling of being torn in five separate pieces at once. If they gave me something to sleep, I wasn't aware of the needle or being taken home. I half-expected to wake in a hospital somewhere, just a lingering inconsequential worry in the back of my mind. Where I did wake up was home, in my own bed, the comforter being pulled up around my shoulders.

Bena? Cracking my eyes open, I gazed up at her. Her face was creased with concern and upset. Noticing I was a awake, she gave me an encouraging grin and sat down next to me on the mattress. "Hi, sleepyhead."

"What happened?"

"You had a little upset. Al and I took you home, after the doctor checked you over. He said you're suffering from sheer exhaustion and maybe a little grief over everything that happened to you on the Leaps. I think he's dead on about that. You just haven't had enough time to work through all the situations, Sam. Maybe being around Al and PQL again brought some of it back. Not to worry, however," she added, trying to sound bright. "You can get some rest here at home by my recommendation. No hospitals-home is what you need. I could send for your mother or family if you..."

"That won't be necessary." I fell back on my side, trying to give her as much confidence as she seemed to be giving me. "I've got a friend..."

"You mean that creature that beat you up?"

"That creature is standing right behind you." My eyes widened as Michael said the words, strolling into my room as if he owned it. "Dr. Beeks?"

"Who the hell are you?"

For a moment, Bena's eyes widened. Michael was a stunner, no doubt about that, male or female had it bad for him. His eyes flicked over towards me, darkening in concern, then back to Beeks. "My name is Michael." I was surprised that he told her that, or even made his presence known until after she was long gone. "I'm a friend of Sam's and I'm taking care of him."

"He's in a delicate condition," she returned, not budging an inch. "And you didn't answer my question."

"Leave him alone," I managed. "He's..."

"Sam." Resting on me, his expression was gentle and not angry. I felt nothing from him but complete peace. "We played a game, Dr. Beeks. Sam told me you were his one confidant, and I'm sure whatever he told you will stay private. Can we discuss his condition in the next room so we don't further upset him?"

The growing tension must've shown on my face. Bena gave me one worried look, then followed Michael into the next room. When I heard the front door close, I hoped things had evened out. Michael had managed to turn the tide to his way of thinking. Even Beeks wasn't invulnerable to it.

Easing into the room, Michael perched on the edge of my mattress, watching me carefully. After a while, I started to worry. "What's the verdict? I'm ready for the padded room?"

"Not exactly." My words had produced a grin, in itself a reward. "She said you needed rest and quiet, good meals, and plenty of care. I can provide that and then some." Closing my eyes, I took in the cool fingers petting away the hair that had fallen over my forehead. "I'll take care of you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Get some sleep."

After the rapid fire up and down mood swings that afternoon, I was ready to sleep for a week. Vaguely, I was aware of Michael coming in and out of my room, checking on me, helping me into the bath, or feeding me some hot soup. Between that kind of care, and the anti-depressants Bena had left for me, I felt better in a few days.

An annoying habit was that Michael insisted on changing the sheets on my bed daily. It was bothersome, and I didn't feel much like getting out of bed to deal with it. Once, he rolled me up in a sheet, kissed me soundly, deposited me in a chair, and went about business. I had to admit that the clean scent from the fresh fabric made me feel better than it would have it I had the same every day.

Sometimes, he'd be working, his head bent over some work he'd gotten from a client, one dark strand constantly falling in his eyes. Impatiently, he'd flick it over his shoulder, or tug at it until it finally fell into place. Never once did he let me forget that he knew I was watching him. After my collapse, I didn't feel much like sex, and he understood. It was much more sensual to watch Michael at work, that sly, slow gaze drifting over to me, dark eyes slitted as he returned my look.

"Do you love me, Sam?"

Resting my head on my pillow and arms, I let the question sink in until it saturated my soul. "Yes, I do," I said decidedly. "Lawrence knew. He knew all along, didn't he?"

"I suppose he did." Michael leaned over and kissed me, turning slightly to get a good angle on the bed. He'd work that way for hours, sitting next to me, watching me sleep and deal with someone's taxes. One of the papers he was dealing with fell from his fingers as his lips touched mine. Easing from his embrace, I took the worksheet, frowning. "This is Al...Al's taxes?"

"Sure, and why not?" He snatched the paper from me in mock anger. "He's been by a few times. I told him I was a friend so you needn't worry about him suspecting anything. Told him I was an accountant and he offered me a job. It's my busiest time of the year, gorgeous man. You think for one minute I"m going to sit on my arse and play nurse for you all day and nothing else..."

"No, of course not!" I readily agreed that Michael should be working, but this was going almost too far. "You'll be finished soon, I suppose."

"In a couple of days. Then he's coming back for 'em." Setting his work aside, he motioned for me to flop over onto my stomach. Instantly, his hands went to work on my lower back and buttocks, massaging gently. "You're tense," he commented, that danger tone creeping into his voice.

"Michael," I cautioned. I was still in no mood for his kind of games.

The hands pressing against my ass grew more insistent. Trying to pull away only caused him to hold me in a firmer grip, making me wince. My breathing came in sharp intakes, burying my face in my pillow as his fingers soothed against my opening.

"Stop it, Michael," I managed. "I don't..."

"You don't know what you want, Sam," he chided, as if I were nothing more than a child. "You have no idea, but I do. You need to be fucked, fucked until you can't move. Then," he added, pulling down the sheets. "When you can't handle it any longer, you need to be loved until you melt."

Swallowing hard, I bit back a scream as he thrust into me. It wasn't gentle or lubricated. He'd taken no precautions against tearing me apart, and was just on the edge of doing that. His cord-like body pressed against my back, screaming my name as he came and shot his hot jitsm in me. From past experience, I knew that if I said one word, one murmur as he had his way with me, that I'd be beaten. I didn't want that again.

His cock was buried in my ass to the hilt. Even after he'd came, he remained in me, toying with my hair as he played his game of time. Every moment he kept me down on the bed was a moment he won from my spirit and he knew it. Breaking me was his goal, and it wouldn't take much to accomplish that. Soft lips touched my neck, alerting me to the next stage of this game he seemed to love so much.

"There's nothing you can refuse me, is there, Sam?"

"No," I said, admitting defeat. Bit by bit, he was breaking my soul down into fragments of it's former self. I was becoming Michael's toy, a play thing that he owned and used-and, possibly, loved.

As quickly as it happened, he was finished, turning gentle and tender again. Oddly, I was totally relaxed after that bout, allowing him to wash my spent body, change the linens, and then, when he was finished, ease down next to me and go back to work on Al's taxes.

If he got up after that, I knew I'd scream. I needed him close, desperately so. He didn't complain as my hands curled over his thigh, nestling in for sleep. As a matter of fact, he acted as if it were a perfectly normal thing and I was lucky to have him near me.

The next day, Bena came to visit. Michael had gone out for some supplies and I had no problem being without him during the day. Barnaby Jones was playing on the TV, not that I was paying much attention to it. Mostly, I was spending some 'quality' time with my pc, and trying to relax by playing a game of Rubik/Scrubik, a game that Ziggy had invented on her own and was nearly unwinnable by anyone besides myself.

"Winning?"

Glancing up, I greeted Bena with a smile. "Of course. Have a seat."

"Where is the...Michael?" Her eyes were darting around the room as if suspecting he'd jump out of the closet at her.

"Went to the store." I felt a shield come down over my mind and soul, as if speaking of Michael without his being there was forbidden. "I'm doing as the doctor ordered."

"And what about what Michael orders?"

That made me twist away from her in the bed, avoiding her gaze. "I thought you came to just talk."

"I had a talk with Michael, Sam. We were quite...candid with each other. Sam, Michael is a controller. He's not what you need, baby." Her hand was shifting through my hair. I felt myself tremble, terrified that Michael should appear at any moment and witness this scene.

"What do you think I need?" Michael's 'training' made me stay stiffly in place, allowing her to pet through my hair.

"You need to start living for yourself again, Sam. Not for me, not for Al, and definitely not for someone who hurts you. These 'games' can be healthy, but in this case, it's not. I think you should tell Al..."

"Tell Al what?" My throat and mouth dried at even the thought of telling Al any of this. "That I'm gay? My god, Bena, he'd..."

"He'd accept it, Sam. You don't know the Al I know-the one that ran PQL in your absence. Damn it, Beckett, dump this user and..."

"Michael is not a user. Leave me alone."

"I won't leave you alone. I don't want you to lose your spirit-your ambition, Sam. You're losing it, aren't you? You're not interested in the Project anymore, or even leaving this room. You haven't left this room since we brought you home, have you? Michael caters to you, gives you everything you want, and only insists on one thing...that you do what he wants, when he wants, and let him guide your every move." Her hand came down and pulled my face so I had to stare at her, eye to eye. "Damn it, Sam. He'll destroy you."

"You don't know him." Inwardly, I knew she was right, but I'd lost that part already that could say that out loud. "I love him."

"He'll kill you, Sam." Releasing me, she got up from the chair. "Call me if you ever need a friend-but I can't hang around here and watch that man destroy you. Being gay doesn't mean control, Sam. It doesn't mean pain. It's just the way you are."

I curled over onto my side and shut her off. I wanted Michael to come back and prove to her that he was not hurting me-and, yet, I knew he was.

The sound of the door closing behind Bena was like a gunshot through me. I had to prove her wrong. Whatever I did, I had to prove her wrong.

In a couple of hours I was finally cleaned up and out of bed. And shaking like a leaf. Every sound outside frightened me and caused quakes to bring me to tremblings and then ease down to calmness. I'd showered, changed into jeans and t-shirt, then decided it might be best to get in my Jeep and drive to the Project. If there was one thing I could do to show Bena I wasn't kept, it was to go back to work, at least on a limited basis.

When I tried to turn the engine over, nothing happened. Upon investigation, I discovered the plugs had been pulled, deliberately. It was a hulk of metal in the garage. Even my old bicycle was disabled-and I knew exactly who had done it. As I stood in the quiet garage, I contemplated walking the six miles or so to the site and knew in my weakened condition I wouldn't make it.

I could call Bena, I thought, going back into the house and falling into a chair in the living room. Admit defeat, admit I needed help-and ask her to come get me out of here. Why was I behaving this way?

By no means was I a wimp. I could handle any man or woman in a fight-including Michael. Over the last weeks, I'd been conditioned, mind and body...and soul. The thought of threatening him...or fighting him...brought back the shakes. Michael had the same hypnotizing effect of a Hitler; he could and had captured me like a fly in a web. Bena had been right-he had changed me, formed me into a sort of kept pet...and I had to call her and ask for help or stay imprisoned.

As I lifted the receiver of the phone, I felt his eyes on me. His forest green gaze was nearly black as he stalked across the carpet and tore the phone from my hand. It landed with a crack against the wall.

"I saw you in the garage, Sam."

"I was trying to leave," I admitted. "I wanted to go back to work."

"Forget it." Michael's hands curved around my arms, holding me upright, bruising the skin as he held me. "You're still sick," he hissed. "I took steps to make sure you don't leave until I want you to."

"I'm not going..."

When he slapped me, I nearly fell out of the chair. Blood seeped from the corner of my mouth as I lifted my hand to check the flow. Before I could react, he lifted me in his arms and carried me to the bedroom. He set me on my feet, pressing my body against the wall as he kissed me, forcing the breath from my lungs. At that moment he had me and I returned the embrace in kind. My hands pressed into his back and strolled down to his ass, cupping the tight muscles as I drew him closer, his groin pressing tight against mine.

Rubbing against his heat, I kissed his neck and throat, my hands pulling against his long hair.

Drawing back a moment, his eyes were now pools of heat, tearing through my defiance. "Do you want me, Sam?"

"God, ye..." Suddenly, all action, all movement, stopped. I was staring down into the coldest, most pleased smile that I'd ever seen on Michael's face. I think now he'd known the entire time that Al was there, possibly to pick up his taxes. Slowly, I turned my head, then felt what was left of my world fall down to the Earth and shatter like glass.

The look on Al's face was somewhere between fascination and outright horror that swiftly turned to disgust...and deep sadness. Without a sound, he turned and strode from the room. Pulling away from Michael, I ran after him, barely making it to the door before he got into his car.

"Al-please let me..."

"I was wondering," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, toying with the car keys he held in his hand, his eyes averted. "I was wondering why you were sort of avoiding me, why he kept tellin' me you were...otherwise occupied, or sick. Is this it, kid?" His head lifted. "You're gay? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought you'd hate me." I let the words I'd been holding in tumble out. "You're military and that..."

"Damn it." The keys hit the car, cutting into the gleaming finish. "Is he the one hurting you, Sam? Is this the reason for the bruises, the cuts?"

"Y...yes," I managed, glancing nervously behind me. Michael was at my shoulder, surprisingly, leaning over me, looking almost bored. "Michael and I..."

"We're lovers," Michael said casually, clearly. The look he gave Al was pure venom. "I give him what...Well, Sam can tell you. Tell him how you like sex, Sam." He was smiling again.

The cobra was curling in my gut, and I felt his iron control fall over me again. The hands that curved possessively around my waist, the weight of his head on my shoulder all contributed to the words I said.

"Tell him, Sam," he encouraged.

"I like it rough." The words came out in a breath, but Al heard every one of them. I could see it wasn't the end of the discussion, but he was ready to kill Michael-and maybe even me.

The car tore off, gravel spitting from the tires as he drove out of the driveway. I tried to jerk away from Michael's arms and couldn't, my ass pressed tight against his groin.

"You did good, Sam." Releasing me, I practically sprang from his arms and tore into the living room in a rage. "And, since you're dressed," he added, not losing a beat. "We're going out for a drive. With dinner afterwards."

"You've just destroyed my life," I spat out. "I don't want to spend any time with you. I just want out. I want you to..." Catching me in his arms, he kissed me again, pressing me against the wall as we'd been when Al had found us. Two kisses, and several breathed words and I was his again, any and all thoughts of defiance leaving me as my spirit broke in his grip. What was left of Sam Beckett fell and disappeared somewhere deep within. I was now Michael/Sam. Nothing more, nothing less.

_**Al:**_

I was shocked. Beyond that, I was ready to take the car and twist it around any convenient tree. Once I'd managed to settle into sane thought, I found myself parked in front of Bena's little house, my forehead leaning over the steering wheel waiting for God knew what.

"Al?" Bena was peering into the open window, looking upset. "I take it you needed to see me?"

"No, " I mumbled. "Yes, maybe...I don't know." My mind seemed to be falling into more logical patterns of thought. Taking a deep breath, I locked gazes with her-and she shifted her eyes, guiltily, I thought. "Did you know about Sam and that Englishman?"

"Damn it." She sent the oath upwards, as if cursing at God or something.

"I take it that's a 'yes'?" In a moment, I jerked open the door and grabbed her so she'd have to face me or twist out of my grasp and run into her house. It was her choice. "You knew all the time, didn't you, Doctor?"

"Doctor-patient confidence," she said flatly. She eased in my grasp. "Sam needs our help."

That seemed to cool me off. Releasing her, I followed her into her house and took a seat where offered.

"Coffee?"

"No." I didn't want refreshment, or sympathy. "You said Sam needs our help. Tell me-what is this accountant doing to him?"

Sliding into the chair opposite me, she met my eyes for the first time. "He's beating the spirit out of him. I've done some checking, with Ziggy's help, and got more information on Michael McAllister. He's been in jail in Britain for beating a lover half to death, then forced to stay away from the man after attempting contact over a period of six years. Finally, the lover couldn't handle the harassment, or maybe couldn't stand being separated from someone who had caused so much pain. Like a child, I guess, who's parents are abusive. You don't turn your Father in for beating you-that would say you hated him. You love your Father, most of the time."

"Get to the point, Bena, " I interjected wearily. She had a habit of pulling a thread out of the blanket til the whole thing was unraveled. It annoyed me.

"What I'm saying is this young man that he beat in England eventually killed himself, Al. The courts kept Michael away from him, because Michael was killing him. He couldn't take the separation and he killed himself. Sam is becoming that way-almost as if he were owned by this man."

"And Sam is gay."

"Yes, he is. Has been since he was a child."

"He had women on the leaps, damn it!" That seemed to justify his straightness to me. "There was Donna before and..."

"And little else. No dates, remember? Ever. Sam lost interest after that one engagement...and then buried himself in work. Now, he's home from leaping, Al. He was confused about his sexual orientation, and I helped him over some of that. The rest he seemed to handle until this...person...came along. I don't know where Michael came from, but I'd like to send him back to hell."

A decision came to the forefront. Regardless of what I felt, Bena seemed to think that Sam's life was in danger. The bright, independent, stubborn kid that I'd grown to care about like a son, and then some, was dying. "Can I use your phone?"

Nodding, she handed me a cellular and nibbled on her index finger as I punched in Sam's phone number. If Michael answered I didn't know what I 'd do.

"Hello?"

It was Michael, damn it. "I want to speak to Sam?"

"He's asleep." There was a certain snide tone to his voice, as if he'd won the game before it started. "Can I take a message?"

"I want you to be out of his house in fifteen minutes. I'm on my way over and..."

"He wants me to stay, Admiral." He voice grew soft and condescending. I was rapidly getting sick to my stomach. "Did you know that you were his first choice-and Sam was just too scared to say a word to you? Thought that you'd be repulsed by his...orientation. Nothing all that bad in wanting a man around his house-and I'm the one he chose. Couldn't have you, no matter how much he wished it. I think you should leave us alone, Al. Peddle your concern elsewhere."

"Regardless," I replied, "I'm on my way over."

"And I'll be waiting, Admiral."

As I set the phone down, I glared at Bena for a moment. "Don't say a word," I said flatly. "I'm going over there and toss that bastard out on his butt."

"How did you find out?"

"I let him do my taxes. Once he'd finished, he insisted on me coming over to see Sam-I'd been getting all these excuses lately, why I couldn't go in and see him. That he was asleep, or tired, or with a doctor he'd called in. I didn't bother to check. Some friend I turned out to be."

"I didn't do much, either so don't beat yourself over the head with that, Al." I think my guilt was reflected in her eyes. "What happened?"

"I went into the house after I pulled up. Michael had gotten there a minute or two before me. Once I was inside I heard Sam's voice and he sounded upset then-well, it got damned quiet." I didn't want to go into the rest of it with her, not now. "I have to go, Bena."

"And what do you expect to do, Al?" She laid her hand gently on my arm, looking at me with concern in her brown eyes.

"Anything I have to do to get Sam alone so I can talk this through with him."

All the way over, I kept thinking over and over all the signs I'd missed. Sam disappearing after visiting his family that one weekend when he'd started his vacation. Up to then, he'd been on the phone with me twice or three times a day. That had dwindled down to once a day, then once a week. That abrupt! I'd call him, after a while, to find out he was not home, or 'busy'. It always seemed to sound like someone was with him in the house-and I'd guessed it was a girl or Ziggy...probably Ziggy. Sowing all the wild oats he'd missed on the Leaps.

Now, well, it all came together. The worst was that seeing Sam kissed like that, held and touched and Michael's mouth possessing him, had given me a forty carat hard on...and that was beyond anything I could fathom. Maybe that was what had frightened me most of all-that I was attracted to that idea. I'd not even thought much about it up til that moment, but seeing Sam kissed by someone...male...made things abruptly come to some sort of fascination in my mind.

First of all, I had to think about Sam, and getting him away from this creature. Then, well, he and I would have to talk about the other stuff. I wasn't totally put off about Sam's gayness-and I'd accept him no matter what if I could get him whole and sane away from Michael.

That dark haired demon was waiting for me when I drove up to the house. Arms crossed, he watched me, steel-eyed from the porch, every movement calculated in those cat eyes. I hated the man on sight now, knowing what he was capable of. What I hated even more was the man sitting at his feet, watching me with apprehension and a little fear.

"Look who's come to visit," Michael stated flatly. "Sam? Did you know that the Admiral wants to send me away? What do you think of that?" His eyes didn't leave me for a moment, supremely confident of his power over Sam.

A look came into my old friend's eyes, part fear, and part hate-both directed at me. "I'd die without you," he said, flat, no life or spirit in his eyes. "You can't leave me."

I approached the porch carefully, my right hand staying in my pocket, gently fingering the weapon I'd pulled from under my driver's seat. If I had to use it, to at least threaten this thing, then I would. It was no more than a stunner, but it would do the job so I could wrestle Sam from him if need be. It was beginning to look as if I would have to use it.

Michael's hand rested on the top of Sam's hair, not unlike the way a person would hold a pet in place. It repulsed me. "I think it's best then if I take Sam home with me."

"You want to fuck him, Al?" The use of my first name was making my nerves twitch, but I wasn't about to show it outwardly. "He likes to be fucked and even beaten a little. You can't take him from this because he's an adult...and he loves this life. Don't you, Sam?"

I didn't hesitate a minute longer. Between the story Bena had given me, and this 'greeting', I knew it was get Sam and get out-or lose him forever. Bringing the weapon up, I let the bolt lance, neatly knocking Michael flat on his ass. Grabbing Sam by the arm, I hauled him, shocked expression and all, into my car and tore off as fast as I could pull out.

The moment Sam recovered his head and tried to pop the hatch, I slammed my hand on the lock buttons and made sure everything was well sealed.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" That was more like it, I thought. "This is.."

"Technically, it's abduction. I'm taking you to Bena's then I'm calling Base Security to keep an eye out for that scum. He's probably wanted in England for questioning. Or maybe somewhere else. Regardless..."

My eyes flicked up and noticed that someone was following us..in Michael's car. The stun I'd hit him with would've knocked him out for a couple of minutes, but not much more than that. "Shit!"

Glancing back, Sam's eyes widened-then he did something I didn't completely understand or expect. Curling into a childlike position in the passenger seat he clutched at the door, pressing his face against the window, staring wide eyed at the rear view mirror. Over and over, he whispered the same words. "No more," I heard. "No more."

As quickly as it started, it was over. A gentle breaking of the spell. Sam's head came down, pressing his forehead against the door, his eyes going down. The faint light from the dash caught the tears that rolled down his cheeks for a moment. Now, he was saying Michael's name, like a prayer. I understood-Sam loved and hated and feared Michael. He was one confused man, and needed Bena's type of help-fast.

I turned a corner, suddenly realizing I'd not taken the turn off and was heading straight up the road to the mountains. In moments, I was on the worst of roads, veering around corners that sliced into the Malpais mountains. With every mile I picked up, Michael came closer; each corner brought that car within inches of mine until...

I had to hit the turnout. Sam was watching every bit of it, his voice going from whispers to out and out screaming Michael's name. It was as if he was outside of the car, watching it all and knowing, somehow how it would end. We hit the turnout and Michael sailed by us...then over the cliff. Everything went silent, the engine, our voices, the moment.

It wasn't a far fall. Maybe forty or fifty feet. The impact alone could've killed him, at the speed he was going. The blue hovercar landed top down, and, before I could even react, Sam was out of my car, after reaching over to unlock his hatch, and down the cliff to the other man's car.

Tearing out of my harness, and I didn't recall putting it on, I scrambled down the cliff after Sam, nearly skidding on the rocks and ruts torn up from the crash. As we struggled, Sam trying desperatly to pull himself from my grasp, Michael's Ferrari blew up in a dramatic explosion that put any on those cop shows on TV to shame.

The worst thing that can happen when someone possesses you like Michael was to lose them before you adjusted to the idea of being without their presence. Eventually, as I realized later, Sam would've gone to Bena or I for help and all would've been fine, after lots of therapy. I'd cut his addiction off too quickly-even though I hadn't been the one pushing Michael's car from the cliff, in Sam's mind, I'd killed his lover-the one person that cared for him-and he was alone.

Kneeling down next to Sam, I tried to comfort him. He shrugged away from my arm, practically acted as if he were truly alone. There was nothing in the eyes that always held a light of joy, nothing but horror and hate for me.

"You killed him," he whispered, staring at smoldering ruin.

"Sam, damn it, he was destroying..."

"Michael..." A tear slipped down his face, crumpling away from my arms, onto the hard ground, his expression breaking into torn lines. "Oh God, Michael..."

Of course, the cops arrived. The Ferrari was too 'hot' to go near for a while, and in Sam's current condition I didn't think it was a good idea for him to see whatever they pulled out of the driver's side. The EMT's that showed up gave Sam a light tranq, helping me load him into my car again. I insisted that I was going to take him home, and told the cops where to reach me had they any questions, I finally left the crash scene with Sam's sleeping form in my passenger seat, and drove him back to his house.

Settling him in bed was no problem. Frankly, I was tempted to crawl in next to him in a purely platonic way, but decided calling Bena was first and foremost a priority.

Once I'd finished talking to her, I decided to go to the nearby grocery and get some food. Sam's cupboards were seriously lacking. When I got back I figured I'd take Michael's few possessions and turn them over to the cops when they came over. That was inevitable.

I wasn't gone more than a half hour, tops. As I entered the house, I realized it felt ...wrong. Skidding into the back bedroom, I stared at the empty bed. Sam was gone. No note.

After the initial shock, I made a few calls. The pieces of the puzzle fell together as neatly as they could in a rush. Sam had called a cab, gone to the airport, bought a ticket to Los Angeles with his Visa GoldCard, and disappeared. Once I'd found all that out, I called Bena, who told me that Sam was dangerously unstable and depressed. Most of all, she was worried that Sam would do himself harm.

That did it for me. Los Angeles was not my favorite of towns, but I had to find the kid and try to sort things out with him. I called the cab company and ended up getting the same driver Sam had. The Native American said little about his passenger, save that he recognized him from a recent issue of Time, and that Sam had said not one word the entire six miles to the airport, except for his destination and a 'thank you' when he got out. His tip had been more than the customary ten percent-more like fifty, the driver seemingly worried that I might ask for the thirty plus dollars back.

The ticket agent said about as much about her hurried client. Sam had bought a first class ticket, since that was all that was left on the next flight, thanked her and had gone to the gate. He'd had no carry on or on board luggage. Also, that he was cute, but he looked as if he'd been crying.

Okay, so I caught a flight, the dead next one out. Maybe when I hit LAX I'd find Sam sitting near the gate, trying to decide where to go next. The flight only took an hour, maybe less or more, I didn't notice. Other than a quick call I made to Bena, no one else knew where I was.

It was uncustomarily overcast when we landed, the rain pouring cold from the wet /black sky. Asking around, I managed to find out that Sam had rented a car at Avis, and headed towards God knows where. Most rental cars had detectors on 'em, just in case they got stolen. Under normal circumstances, if Sam Beckett wanted to disappear, he'd have removed it. These were far from normal circumstances, and Sam wasn't thinking straight. The girl at the counter didn't look too impressed when I pulled out my security credentials, but her boss was plenty upset. In a few minutes, I discovered that the Handai Superstreak was parked in front of 616 Topanga Glen.

Renting my own car, I tore out of the airport, the map and gift shop coffee spread out before me. The rain was dripping down in especially big drops, some the size of my hand, slopping against the windshield. Several lines on the map were Topanga something or another. It took me sixteen wrong turns, and one stop at a Korean food stand before I found myself in the right direction.

The heavily wooded area was a stark contrast with the city not more than a mile down the hill. With the rain and wind, it was damned difficult to find 616, but I managed. Sure enough, the Handai was half in, half out of the driveway, as if the driver had been in such a severe hurry that they didn't even think about parking it straight.

What now? Was I supposed to go up to this millionaires front door, knock, and say "Hi, I'm looking for Sam Beckett. He didn't happen to just walk in here did he?"

Before I made it to the door, it opened for me. A tall, silver haired man with gentle blue eyes and a slender build frowned at me a moment before waving me inside.

"You must be Admiral Calavicci."

I could tell by the look he was giving me, that he was wondering what I was doing out in that weather without a coat and hat. "Is Dr. Beckett here?" I asked, trying very hard to consciously not drip on his expensive Oriental carpet.

"Upstairs-asleep." His eyes were boring into me. "My name is Lawrence Drake. I'm surprised that you found him so quickly. I've tried calling you in New Mexico twice in the last two hours."

"Look...Mr. Drake." He half-smiled at that, not exactly friendly, but not condescending either. "I'm soaking wet, I've just travelled some hundred plus miles in a damned rush, and I'm worried sick about that kid."

As I spoke, he pulled some blankets from a cupboard, handed me the armful and a thick towel. "Coffee or tea?" he asked, as if I'd been in and out of this place every day for the past twelve years.

"Coffee," I managed, eyeing him carefully as he went into the kitchen.

"Get dried off-the bath is right through the living room. We'll talk once you've finished. Feel free to borrow a robe."

There were several thick, terry cloth robes hanging in the bathroom closet and I borrowed one and hurried back out, deciding I was going to get some answers from this man or die trying.

The coffee was incredible. The Napoleon brandy he'd laced it with helped immensely to mellow my mood. "You said Sam was asleep? Why did he come here?"

"I'm a friend."

"I don't know you-and I know all his friends."

That half-smile again, like he knew something I didn't. "Your friend has a life you have no idea about. In a strange way, you put him in that world. Michael was a friend of mine."

"Then you know he's dead," I said, almost apologetically, my fingers rimming the cup.

"No, I...I didn't know that. Not for sure." His head dipped, hiding his emotions. I suddenly realized that he was younger than he looked-maybe not more than sixty. Not much older than me. His hair wasn't quite that grey-more black than anything. "You see," he continued. "Sam hasn't said one word to me. I heard the car tear into the yard, then he fell through my door and into my arms, sobbing. I gave him something to help him sleep, and he's in my room now."

Snorting, I shook my head. It figured, some guy in a house like this was either a movie star, or a drug dealer.

"I'm a doctor, Admiral." I felt my cheeks redden at that. "I think that's why Sam and I got along so well the first time. I also sail, and have two boats down at the Marina. And a plane. Yes, I'm bragging. I've worked hard for what I have, but no more so than the fight I've had to just be myself. I'm gay, as you've probably figured, and, since you've made the effort to find Sam, then I'm sure that you know that he's gay, as well."

"I know." My mouth went dry, more in fear of what would happen when Sam woke up than the admission by this stranger. "How does he know you? Why did he come here?"

"He came here because he trusts me, and wanted a safe place. I told him once that this place was his home if there should come that need. Thank God he took me literally."

The place wasn't so bad. Actually, with the rain falling against the wood walls, I felt that we were in the mountains, not in the city of Angels. Leaning against the counter, he watched me, as if waiting for my side of whatever story I should try to tell. I didn't know what to say.

"How did Michael die?"

His simple question released a torrent. I told him of the chase, of what I suspected. He nodded throughout, not angry, not happy, just generally taking it all in, his blue eyes expressionless over those steepled fingers. Then, once I'd given him the specifics, I clammed up.

"Michael was into control, Admiral," he said finally. "I regret telling him about Sam. That was what he wanted-someone who needed to be dominated."

By the way my eyebrows were climbing into my hair line, I realized he was seeing an expression that was half-shocked, his amused smile annoying me. "I hope you don't mean...games." That grin again. "See, I"ve known Sam for years and he's pretty...puritanic...when it comes to sex."

"Have you ever made love to him, Admiral?"

"Of course not!" I didn't mean for those words to come out the way they did, but no offense showed in his voice or expression.

"Sam has an interesting...style." Leaning forward slightly, his eyes shifted away from me, as if remembering something. "When he makes love, the whole world is the one he's with and nothing else."

The way Sam approached everything was head on, I thought, sex being an act that I should have known the kid would do with his body and his soul. Despite his words to the contrary, I had never watched him do 'it' with anyone on the Leaps, or otherwise.

"Your clothes should be dry," he commented, getting up from the armchair. I hadn't even realized that he'd dried them, or that we'd spent three hours talking in front of the fire, like we'd known each other for ages. Customarily, I wouldn't have said three words to him, but something told me this man was a key to getting Sam Beckett back whole again.

I changed into my clothing, and glanced at the time. Three a.m. I hadn't been aware of the late hour, and my host wasn't showing the effects. Adrenalin was keeping me awake, and worry. I wanted to see Sam, and make sure he was in one piece before I said one more word, or took one more step.

"Can I see him?"

"It took you long enough," he said, then, stone-faced, guided me to the room he was in. Looked like a master suite, all heavy oak furniture, a balcony with dark curtains, huge desk and computer...a man's room. What had I been expecting? Lace drapes and pink wallpaper? "He's very asleep. I doubt if our presence or talk will wake him." The lights came up to a minimal level as he turned the dimmer switch.

Sam was sprawled across the black with red pin stripes sheets. I had to smile. He looked all of four or five years old, his face taking on that relaxed expression when all is right with one's world. Whatever this doc had given him, it must've been good shit. When had his hair gotten so long? Why hadn't I noticed that-or a lot of other things? Since when had I gotten too busy to notice Sam? I'd taken him for granted for years and years. Now, it seemed, he was the unreliable one-and I had to take care of him. Turnabout being fair play and all that.

Lawrence let me sit with Sam, even though he'd told me that this huge room had to be his own. Maybe he was a vampire, one of those guys like me that could stay up all night with no trouble. Either my age was catching up with me, or I was more tired than I realized. One moment, I was sitting up in a armchair, the next, my head was against the back of it and daylight was peeking through the cracks in the heavy curtains.

And...Sam was watching me. He barely moved an eyelash, like a deer caught in the headlights, not uttering a sound as I started, then awoke. Some unsaid order told me to not move too fast, or to reach and touch him. He did look like a small, frightened child, his greenish eyes filling with tears as he realized where he was and the awful realization that memory can bring after a long sleep.

"Take it easy, Sam," I said, choosing each word carefully. He didn't flinch or look away-a possible good sign. "I came here to take you home. We can fly back to New Mexico, talk to Bena, get...well get all this sorted out."

Still unmoving. Getting up from the chair, I stretched a bit then glanced back at him. "I'll be waiting for you out in the living room," I said, trying to give him a reassuring grin. "We'll talk, Sam. I promise." Even after I closed the door, I heard nothing from within, as if he was still sitting upright in that huge bed, staring me down.

Lawrence was in fresh clothing, preparing something that suspiciously smelled like breakfast. "Is he awake?" he asked.

"Yes." He glanced up at the edginess in my voice. "He's not sayin' much," I mentioned, leaning over the counter.

"Did you really expect him to say anything, Admiral?" Setting a cup of coffee in front of me, he seated himself on a stool, sipping at his own. "His life is a mess right now. A severe nervous breakdown after all he's been through is to be expected."

"Is it safe to take him home?"

"I think so, but I'd be very careful, Admiral. As a matter of fact, I'd suggest that you leave him with me for a couple of weeks, until he's on his own feet again."

"Are you an M.D. or a psychiatrist?"

"An M.D.," he replied without missing a beat. "I know some very qualified psychiatrists in the Los Angeles area that might be able to help, if he allows it."

"He has a shrink." He fairly smiled at the term. "Dr. Verbena Beeks. She knows Sam's case inside and out. In my opinion she's the only one qualified to do a thing for him."

"I'll take your word on that," he answered, then froze. Hell, all time froze. It was the sound of the car starting out at the end of the drive. Dressed only in a robe, I tore out the door, running down the path just in time to see Sam's rental car disappear over the hill towards the city.

If I'd had my keys, clothes or no, I'd had been in my car in hot pursuit. As it stood, I had to run back in, jerk on my slacks, grab my keys, and run back out.

Lawrence was at my heels, his expression as intent as I felt. Arguing with him was out of the question-he was as concerned nearly as much as I was about Sam's welfare. He slid into the passenger seat as I turned the key in the ignition, propelling car and the two of us down the drive and in the general direction where Sam had gone. When we reached the bottom of the hill, I glanced in both directions. Either Sam had hidden the car somewhere between the house and there, or he'd managed to pull a decent disappearing act again.

I had no idea what I'd do next. Lawrence looked angry and despondent at the same time. "Well?" I said, turning to him. "He got out the window?"

"I'd assume so," he said, his mouth tight. "I think we should call the authorities. In his present condition."

"You have to be kidding." The wide eyed look he gave me made my hackles rise. "He's as important as the president. If I call the police, what he has left of his professional career is shot to shit and back. I'll find him."

"You?"

"No, Peter Pan," I spat back. "First though," I added, "I'd better go back to the house and get some clothes on. Then, we'll go out and find him."

_**Sam:**_

What had made me run, I couldn't say. To see Al there, in Lawrence's house, looking as if he, dare I say it, pitied me, was too much. I felt betrayed, even more so when I overheard some of the conversation out in the kitchen. The acoustics in that place were very good, every little word clear as a bell as I pulled on my jeans, and grabbed my wallet. If he had found me here-I'd never be alone again. I couldn't look into his eyes again, or feel pity from him. I'd wanted Al as my lover, as my partner, and, in my confused state at that point, I considered him the man who had killed Michael.

I was in the midst of a near nervous breakdown, compounded by the mind control Michael had put me through, and other things. Leaping, for one, all that insanity, non-stop, year after year. Maybe that was a major part of it. Running, as I did, was insane, but it was all I wanted to do. Facing Al meant facing reality. I'd ran to Lawrence in an effort to recapture the first innocence I'd had when I came home, and maybe to blot out what I'd had with Michael. Or...maybe, I'd been begging for help from Lawrence, Al, or anyone that would listen.

Grinding through gear after gear, I tore down the roads at top speed til I hit Topanga Boulevard at the bottom. In my fevered state it looked like any big street. Turning down that, I moved the car from one avenue to the next, until, after what seemed like hours, I was out of fuel. I left the car where it stopped, keys and all, and started walking. West, I thought, glancing up at the sign above my head. To the beach, maybe a place to hide, and sleep.

I wanted that, more than anything, I wanted to sleep for months, maybe weeks. Food? No, wasn't interested. Hated everything and anyone. As I staggered my way up the early morning Hollywood Boulevard, I ignored curious or hostile stares. Once I felt that my legs would give out if I walked another step, I managed to fumble my way onto a passing bus, not noticing the destination, as long as it was going West. The fare went unpaid until the driver reminded me. I dug a dollar and seventy-five cents from my jeans pocket, handed it absently to the man, and fell into a seat.

The ride was a blur of stops and starts. Finally, I just instinctively got off at a stop and fell down somewhere soft and warm. Sand, actually. If it wasn't for a palm tree, I think I'd have had life threatening sunburns. As it stood, the palm tree and mother nature saved my unthinking and uncaring butt that day. When the rain fell, I woke for a bit, realized that, yes, it was wet, and I was soaked, then turned back over onto my stomach and went back to a nice place where I didn't have to care about squat.

"C'mon, Buddy. Wake up."

Cracking open one eye, I gave the pest a look that I hoped was threatening, and curled away from him.

"Listen, you can't sleep here. You could get arrested, or worse." I jerked away from his hand as he rested it on my bare arm. Had I been wearing a shirt when I left the house? I didn't know or care.

The boy was crounching down next to me now, his curly brown hair like a nimbus around his thin, face, a handful of it falling over one eye, looking worried. "You don't look like street people, friend. You look like you're sick. I have a house-just up the way. I can call a doctor, have him look you over. Give you a bite to eat."

Curling away from him again, I shook my head and tried to bury my head in my arms. I didn't want anyone, even his stranger, giving a shit about me. Thankfully, after a few minutes of pleading, he went away so I could go back to sleep.

"Take him by the trunk and I'll get his legs."

"I can handle it-you couldn't possibly lift him!"

Someone was lifting me in their arms, like I was nothing. Kicking and squirming, I found myself held firmly, and even gently, carried to a van and lifted inside, eased down onto a bunk as the vehicle drove off. That boy again-maybe not so much a 'boy' but a man who showed his age well. "Don't worry-you're in good hands."

My mind registered a 'so what' as I turned over away from them and went back to sleep.

"He hasn't said a word."

"I know. What do you propose to do with him?'

"Call a doctor-or the cops? I can see in his eyes that he's afraid I'll call the police. He doesn't look like a bum, Stan."

"Could be he's a drug dealer that got rolled. Or a nut. You and your strays." The last was said affectionately. "I'll call Janice to come over and take a look at your new pet. Michael, if I didn't love you..."

Michael. I felt the world roll beneath me on the soft bed I lie on. Tearing the warm comforter off my body, I tried to jump out of the bed and found myself caught in strong arms and forced back onto the mattress.

"I don't know what's wrong with you, but you're far too sick to get out of this bed for now. In a day or so, when we've had the doctor look at you, and you've eaten some food, then we'll see." It was Michael, man that had found me. His eyes were a warm milk chocolate color, staring down at me with a friendly gaze. "What's your name?"

Turning my face away from him I evaluated the situation, even as he held me down by my bare shoulders. Someone, probably this kid, had stripped me, cleaned me up, and settled me down here. The ocean breakers were plunging just feet away from the deck window I stared out of. It seemed morning again, the way the sky looked, the light that I knew was behind where I was.

"You slept through the night-and most of yesterday afternoon. We pulled you off the beach around three p.m. My friend Stan said he'd call Jan. She's a doctor and can give you a good look over, but I won't let you on your way until you give me a name to call you and someone I can phone to let them know you're all right."

Keeping my lips tightly shut, I tried to ignore him. I didn't want a doctor-what I wanted was...what? To be left alone? Why had I flown here in the first place? To see Lawrence-to see sanity again. Instead, he betrayed me by allowing Al in the house, by letting me hear his voice again. It was all unreasonable on my part, but my mind wasn't sane yet, and I still felt that Michael owned and loved me. That Al had killed him.

Not directly, no. Al had rushed into a situation that had been none of his business, and tore me away. Michael, I reasoned, had loved me enough to follow him, speeding and wrecking his car, causing his death. In my unreasonable mind, it sounded very reasonable.

Yet, this Michael, the one with brown curly hair and unerring persistence, was still talking to me.

"I wish you'd say something. If you don't, Stan might call the cops, and they'd take you somewhere to find out who you are that way. You don't want that, do you? Do you?" I shook my head in the negative, allowing that much communication.

"Fine," he said, sounding pleased. "Stan will call Dr. Jan and she'll give you a look over. I'm making spaghetti for dinner. Do you like that?"

"Michael?"

"Just a minute," the younger one said, then turned back to me. "I'll be right back. Don't mind Stan-he's just protective."

"Michael," The older man's voice was right on the edge. Shrugging away from the touch, I squirmed over onto the other side of the bed, and buried my face into one of the soft pillows.

"He's not talking, is he?"

"No." Michael sounded stubborn; I figured I had a fight on my hands. He'd have me talking or die trying. "Did you call Jan?"

"She's busy down at the Clinic. Said she'd be here after work-around seven, as long as you are cooking and not me. What I should do is just call the cops and let them deal with it."

"He's not an 'it'. He's a human being." Michael was trying very hard to keep his voice low, but I could still hear every word. "He doesn't live on the streets, Stan. Someone loves him somewhere. I can see it. He's been cared for-and I can see that someone hurt him, too."

"Hurt..."

"He has marks on his back and legs. You saw..."

"When I bathed him." Stan's voice took on a hard steel tone. "Jan says we take too many strays like this from the beach and the city might give us a grant and declare the house a clinic. Are you sure about this one, Michael?"

"The last one was a wrong call." That stubborn tone again. "This one isn't."

I wanted to tell him I was a wrong call, that no one cared and really it didn't matter what happened or what he did, that I would still feel as if my life was over. Instead, I kept silent. I felt as if I should say one word, I'd break into bits. I wanted Michael to tell me what to do, my Michael.

I spent the afternoon under Michael's scrutinizing eyes. Didn't leave me alone for a moment, constantly asking me if I needed anything. I felt like telling him to give me back my clothes. The one time I did get up to use the bathroom, he assisted me silently, and led me directly back to bed. My head felt as if it was about to explode, and my body was fumbling, trembling with every movement I made. To put it mildly, my nerves were shot.

As soon as my head touched the pillow, I burst into tears. Jerking away from Michael's concern, I clutched the sheets around me and twisted into a fetal position, feeling every sob go through to my toes. Maybe he'd used me, but at that time I didn't care. He had loved me, and I couldn't live without him. Hadn't he said that? Hadn't he?

Chest aching, I finally allowed Michael to pull me into his arms, all the while calling out for Stan. In a moment, the man who had, seemingly, not wanted me around, came over to the other side of the bed and held me close, pressing my body between the two of them. The acceptance came through from both men. I was safe. I was among friends. Don't cry.

Slowly, the sobs turned to hiccups, then sleep. When I finally awoke, I found myself on my back, fresh sheets and fresh air surrounding me, Michael's face looming over mine, grinning in a 'cheer up' fashion.

"Ready to talk?" Scooting up next to me on the bed, he brushed the hair away from my forehead. "You slept for a long time. Jan was here and said she'd be by on her day off tomorrow. Who hurt you?"

I didn't know what he meant. Was he talking about what hurt inside? Or what Michael had done to me that last night? Turning my face away from him, the old reluctance to speak took over.

"Please tell me." Someone else entered the room. Stan? "He's still not talking. Maybe he's mute-traumatized."

"That's what Jan said. It's possible. Kid, you really should go to bed." The use of the diminutive almost choked me. "Did he eat anything?"

"No."

I'd noticed the covered plate and tempting smells by the bedside, but had ignored it. Appetite had evaded me since I'd lost Michael-before that I hadn't eaten even a snack without his say so. It had simply been that way.

"Jan said if he doesn't eat, that we should call an ambulance. He could die. I wish for Christ's sake that just once you'd find someone with a wallet, or even an i.d."

I'd probably had it stolen when I was lying on the beach. Even that bit of news didn't bother me. I'd half wondered why they'd been asking for my name when I'd carried a driver's license on me.

"Jan said she thought he was gay," Michael said softly, his fingers gently easing through my hair. "Is someone looking for you?" he questioned, the words directed at me.

"He's not going to answer." The bed sunk on the other side as Stan sat next to me on the other side. "I doubt if he understands a word you're saying, or he'd have answered you long ago. Go to bed, Michael."

"But I have to..."

"I'll keep the first watch," he replied. I heard him give his friend a smart swat on the butt, just the sound a reminder of times when Al had done that to me, when I was reluctant to give up the work and take a nap. It somehow made me miss him. "If he doesn't eat by noon tomorrow, I'm calling the hospital. We should, by all accounts, call the police. There could be a missing persons report out on him."

After Michael left, Stan pulled out a book and began to read. The words made little sense to me-then came into being. It was the new John Irving novel, something warm about dancing bears, reluctant youngsters finding their sexuality, with a travelling circus thrown in for good measure.

"Why do you both care so much?"

Stopping in mid-sentence, he calmly set the book aside, and turned his even, grey gaze to me. "Did you say something?"

"I asked you why do you both care?"

"We care because you're a human being on this planet and looked as if you needed someone to help you up for a while. Don't you care anymore?"

"I used to." My words were whispers, Stan leaning down to hear every word I said. "That was my life," I said. "Other people's problems. There were so many lives I changed, all those people, and then I came home and it was all over. You and Michael, caring like that."

"You heard every word we said, didn't you?" I nodded slowly at that. "Why didn't you talk?"

"I don't know. I just wanted to be left alone."

"You would've died out on that beach if Michael and I hadn't brought you home." His words became hard. "That was gang territory. You're fortunate that you only lost your shirt and shoes. Not to mention the other injuries. Did you see who did that to you?"

"No one did anything to me," I replied, rolling over so I could see him better. The lamp light was shaded, but enough to let me see details without blinding me. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Bring it up with Jan-Dr. Cook-when she returns tomorrow." He didn't want to say something and I was in no real rush to have more than the simplest of conversations. "You need to eat something or I'm calling the hospital. Either or. At least you're speaking. What's your name?"

"John Doe."

"Real original." He made a face at that, but I could see by his eyes that it was no less than he'd expected. "I take it you're either wanted by the law or by the thugs that hurt you. Which is it?"

"Not the law." I met his gaze squarely. It all came together in that moment. If a doctor had examined me, and had determined I was gay during that exam, it was pretty obvious she' d noticed that there was some evidence of it. That, or I'd been raped, which was what Stan had been reluctant to voice as a possible reason I'd been out on that beach. "I have no one, " I managed, turning away from him.

"Okay, fine, then. Are you going to eat, or do I call the welfare hospital and have them take you to a ward?"

"I..." I thought about that. Sure, he could call some hospital, take me in as a charity case. Over a couple of days they'd take my fingerprints, my retina scan, and sure enough, they'd find out who I was and I'd be returned to New Mexico. Back to my Project, my work, and back to Al. I wasn't sure if I ever wanted to see him again. We'd have no life together now. I was sure, especially after I ran like I had, he'd never want anything to do with me again.

And I...I nearly hated him.

"Are you going to eat?" he repeated. "Or do I have to force feed you?"

Sitting up, I finally nodded reluctantly. In a moment he was gone, then returned to replace the plate they'd brought me earlier. It wasn't spaghetti, not with my empty stomach. That would have truly been a big mistake. Simple macaroni and cheese, some juice, and vegetables. I ate some of it, enough to fill my reluctant emptiness, then handed the plate back to Stan. "Thank you," I said, trying to sound grateful and polite.

"You're welcome." His eyes were still concerned as he took the dish and set it on top of the covered one near his elbow. "Why did it nearly take me ordering you to make you eat?"

"I don't know. Whatever it is, I don't care. It was very good, and I ate it. Are you satisfied?"

"Not nearly. It'll have to do for now. Get some more sleep." Instead of getting up, he settled back into the chair, turned down the light, and dug in for the night.

"Why aren't you going to bed?"

In the dim light from the window, I could barely make out details of his strong looking face. "You want truth or a lie?"

"Truth."

"We don't want you running off. You look as if you need a place to rest for a while, and that's what we intend to do. You also look and act as if something really terrible has recently happened in your life, and you need time to heal and take it all into perspective." He chuckled softly at that. "God, I'm beginning to sound like Michael."

"Is Michael still here?" Stupid question the moment I said it, and knew it.

"Michael and I are married. Are you gay?"

"Yes."

"And you're not used to it, are you? You just recently found yourself."

"Yes," I repeated, wondering oddly why I was saying as much as I was.

"Michael and I...I was a stray, like you." His feet came up, gloved in soft boots that he crossed at the ankles over the spread to my side. "Michael is a photographer-Time, Life, that sort, and I run my own security firm. Together we make a team. He's much younger than I, but it doesn't seem to matter to him. He has an endearing quality, don't you think?"

"He does. He needn't waste it on me."

"Who hurt you?"

"What does it matter?"

"Plenty, if you insist on acting this way. Who beat the shit out of you? Street thugs, some gent, or your boyfriend?"

His light British accent was coming out with every word. Emotions were fairly swimming in this room, most of them angrily directed at whoever had 'hurt' me. I decided to remain silent.

"You weren't mugged," he continued calmly. "Those cuts and bruises are days old. Jan is used to working with AIDs patients at the Clinic, so you needn't worry about her methods. She said you were violated, in a damned mean way, and that's something I won't stand for."

"It was done with love," I said. That quieted him instantly. "He was all that ever loved me," I added, then turned on my side, cutting his words and concern off and away.

The next morning, I woke to sunlight and Michael with a dish of steaming hot cereal set before me. Oatmeal, which, surprisingly, tasted fine. His enthusiasm was almost contagious, especially when he found out that I was no longer playing mute.

"What is your name?"

"Don't bother, kid." Stan's long, muscular form leaned in the door jam, eyeing the two of us. I suddenly noticed his dark hair was very long, pulled back in a pony tail. His blue jeans and t-shirt clung lovingly to every muscle on his body. I could see that he could be very intimidating security, should he be needed. "He says he's John Doe."

"You do have a name." Michael frowned. "A real name. So, tell me."

"I'd rather not."

"At least you're eating." Glancing between me and Stan, I could see he was still concerned. "Jan is coming soon. She'll..."

"I don't need a doctor."

"You do, and Jan will be the one to take care of you, so don't argue."

I couldn't disguise the smile that skirted across my expression at his tone. He sounded like Katie at her bossiest, and there was usually nothing I could do or say to break her when she wanted something done. The thought of Kate, and my family in general, made my heart sink a little.

"There has to be someone you want me to call," Michael continued earnest as hell. "Stan told me you're gay, and might have a lover somewhere that you care for. Can I call him?"

My head lifted, remembering where my lover was now. Were they having a funeral for Michael? Did he have a family to attend it, or would he be buried alone and forgotten in some place in England? I had no idea, and the thought of him being placed without anyone that cared cut me to the bone. "You can't call him," I said softly, deciding they should both know so maybe they'd drop the subject and leave me alone. "He's dead."

Saying that out loud hurt. Maybe more than anything, I had denied his death, not actually accepted it until that moment. I'd cried the tears for Michael inside, and out. There was nothing more to shed; just the grief. Without him I felt disjointed and out of balance-a puppet, I realized later, with the strings cut.

"I'm sorry," Michael said uncomfortably, then glanced at Stan for guidance.

"It's your show, kid," the older man said, showing me, in a few words, just how they both operated. In this household, Michael was encouraged to be independent of Stan-even argumentive.

"How did he die?"

So much for that idea-thinking that saying Michael was dead stopping the conversation about him. "He was killed in a car accident," I replied flatly, pushing up from the bed. "Is there any chance I can get my clothes back and leave?"

"You're leaving?" Stan shook his head, taking the bowl away. "Jan says you're suffering from malnutrition, some injuries, and maybe even a nervous breakdown. If you go back out there, you'll end up dead, and I don't want that on my conscience. We won't keep you captive, but if you leave, I'll ...I'll call the police and tell them about having you here. If anyone is looking for you, they'll have a damned good lead."

"No one is looking for me. I just want to..."

"Someone loves you very much." That made my head lift.

"You seem to know it all."

"Not all, just some. I can tell when someone is loved and when someone is hurting and suffering from being unloved. Someone is looking for you, and you'd rather run like hell than face them again."

Paling, I felt myself fall against the bed again, feeling the truth of his words and not wanting in any size, shape, or form to acknowledge it.

A strong hand came and touched me on the cheek, his warm fingers gliding down until I looked up. Surprisingly, it was not Michael, but Stan, looking at me with pure sympathy in his gaze. Not pity, but worry and sadness. "Michael is gifted, " he said quietly. "More than you'll know. He can't read minds, but he can perceive more than you can imagine. The first thing he ever said about you was that you seemed an innocent, but your eyes had seen the weight of the world. I've seen my share of hatred and anger, maybe as much as you have, but from what Michael has told me-that might be unlikely.

Michael took my hand, eyes boring into mine, unswerving. "What are you so afraid of?"

Swallowing hard, I wanted to run. More than that, I wanted to jump into that nearby surf and let the ocean and foam overwhelm and drown me.

"What are you afraid of?" Michael persisted. His hands were on my shoulders now, gripping gently, his eyes and manner very concerned, but demanding an answer. "Tell me-or stay. Or both."

"Tell me."

Stan still leaned in the doorway, quiet and unmoving as Michael gently said the words.

"Please?"

Tears leaked from my eyes as I shook my head from side to side. At that point, I guess, he decided he was pressing me too much and let up on the insistence. It didn't take much effort for me to fall into his arms, or to allow Stan to ease me back and roll me over on my stomach. Why these two men would allow their life to be disrupted by a vagrant was beyond me. Maybe Leapers were more than men who jumped into Time Machines.

When I met Jan the first time, she met my steady gaze with one of her own. There was no nonsense about this one, not a bit of it. Instead, she took my pulse, b.p., and respiration with no hesitancy, keeping up a steady patter of lively conversation without saying much. I answered her perfunctorily, nodding at the right spots, then letting my gaze drift as she asked more personal questions.

"I asked you something and I'd like an answer."

Her hazel eyes met mine, that no nonsense look that I was growing used to from Michael. "I've dealt with worse than you-Dr. Beckett." That made my eyes widen, but she had said the words so softly that I doubted the others had heard. "I know who you are, and, no, I'm not telling Stan or Michael, not unless you want me to."

"How did you know?"

"Stupid question, absolutely idiotic." She grinned, enough to let me know she wasn't the type to break promises. "You got out of medical school when you were twenty years old, graduated M.I.T. at age twenty-two. Don't tell me otherwise. I'm one of your admirers. You disappeared for something like five years and resurfaced here. I saw one or two reports in the last few weeks-stuff about some project you were running in New Mexico. Pretty much everything you do is news."

"So," I replied. "If I'm so newsworthy, why didn't Stan and Michael know who I am?"

"They will find out, in time, but I know for a fact that neither of them watch television. It's a waste of time when they can be out walking, or exercising, or making love. They do that quite a bit, but you'd never know it. They also have a tendency to pick up strays, and I end up taking care of the torn ears, broken bodies, and general sickness. Now," she said, crossing her hands over her royal blue blazer. "I want to know what the hell you've been doing to yourself."

"It's none of your concern."

"Like it or not, I'm your doctor."

"You're not my doctor. You're a ...friend of Stan's and Michael's. I appreciate your concern, but..."

"My concern is part of my vocation. I run a clinic downtown, AIDS patients only. The majority are street people, women and children. Lovely stuff. Deal with it every damned day. It sickens me to see a man like you, with all these advantages, an intelligent, quick mind, and looks to boot, is suffering from malnutrition, and deep rooted depression. What the hell have you got to be depressed about?"

"Nothing, " I snapped. "Absolutely nothing. NOTHING!"

"Well, obviously what I'm saying is pissing you off." She was now smiling easily from ear to ear, just like the Joker. "That and the fact that I pulled your name out of a hat."

"You seem pretty cocky."

"You betcha. Secondly, if you want to maintain this little charade, and really stay undercover, I can get you a job at the clinic. It pays a little, and it'll be something that will get your mind off of whatever is hurting you."

I doubted that very much, but the idea of working with AIDS patients intrigued me. It could be my penance, I thought, for letting Michael die the way he had. For letting Al take me. "No strings?" I asked.

"Plenty of them. But I think that we can talk about that later. Right now, I think it would be best if you got out of bed, got dressed, and went for a drive with me. You're able, and I think the fresh air, albeit Los Angeles-like, would do you some good."

At least, she had the decency to leave me alone as I dressed. When I stepped out of the bedroom, I was surprised to discover the house was larger than I'd suspected, spacious and open to the elements. Every door and window was open wide to the sea air, crisp white curtains waving in the cool breeze.

The look Michael gave me as I emerged in the clothing left for me was admiring. I noticed that Stan gave him a nearly hidden glare, but the twinkle in his dark eyes belied the look. Apparently, these two were very secure in their relationship and need not feel threatened by mine or anyone else's presence.

Getting up from the lounge chair he lie on, Michael came over to me and straightened the collar of the white shirt I wore, smoothing over the fabric until he stepped back to admire his work. "You look great," he said, his eyes glowing. "You'll feel even better once you get some sun and fresh air."

"Which is exactly what I'm about to do," Jan said, taking my arm. "A ride in my car, some small talk, and then I'll bring him back home for you two to fuss over. I figured that you could both use an afternoon off from babysitting." I felt my cheeks redden at that.

"No problem at all," Stan said, standing next to Michael and placing a protective arm over his shoulders. When the two men's eyes met, I saw a communion there that I had yet to understand. Still, I believed that love between two men had to be possessive and domineering, but I was beginning to see the other side-and liking it.

The car ride went as expected. Jan took me around the beach areas; ten miles up and back, saying nothing. Allowing me to love the scenery and absorb the healthy sunlight was all I really wanted to do. Somehow the wind was in our favor; the smog and smells of city life were absent this day. A salty tang touched the air I breathed, the clean sunlight cutting through to my bones and baking me as we tore along the stretch of highway. Every so often, Jan would glance in my direction and smile, pleased, perhaps, that I looked more human than she'd ever seen me appear.

We stopped at a roadside stand, picking up a couple of fat free cones and slowly meandering our way around the beach there until Jan noticed that I was beginning to lag behind. Taking my arm, she steered me back to the car, started it up, and I remembered nothing more until we returned to the cottage.

Calling the place a cottage was like calling the Taj Mahal a nice little shack. Leaning heavily on Jan's arm, I managed to make it to the vine enclosed sun porch before collapsing heavily on a canvas lounge chair. The down filled pillows on it made a comfortable cushion. Cracking my eyes open, I noticed that Michael was pulling off my shoes, Stan saying goodbye to Jan before coming over with a tempting look glass with something very green in it.

"Mint julep," he said, grinning. "Without the liquor. Try it."

Tentatively, I took a sip, making a face, then frowning. It was terribly sweet, but cool and refreshing at the same time. A second sip took the edge off the sugar or sweetener they had used and a third was perfection itself. "It's good," I said, handing it to Michael's hands. "Just what I needed."

"Stan worked at Disneyland when he first moved here in '78," Michael said eagerly. "He makes good hot dogs, hamburgers, and mint juleps without the zing. How are you feeling?"

"Better." I did feel fine. "Maybe I got a little too much sun. How did you know we were coming?"

"Jan called from her car. Said she'd worn you out but wanted to make sure the coast was clear before you both came home. Offered to take you back to her house in North Hollywood, but I absolutely forbade it. You don't need pollution or the city right now."

"Michael," Stan chided gently. "You would make a wonderful father."

"Very funny." For the first time since I'd ever seen him, Michael glared at his friend, but not like he meant it.

Stan sat down next to me, meeting my eyes as he spoke. "Jan tells me that you might go down to help her in the clinic in a few days. Is this what you want?"

"I guess so." Stan didn't look convinced. "Jan needs help."

"Are you a doctor?" Michael's tone was not accusing, just curious.

"Yes." Admitting that didn't mean I'd give them much more. Even after all they'd done for me, I was not going to give them details about my life. I couldn't. "I've been out of medicine for a long time-maybe it's about time I got back into it."

Glancing from his partner, then back to me, Michael placed his hand on my bare arm. "What' s your name?"

"My name is Sam," I said. They both seemed satisfied with that.

_**Michael:**_

It was cold in California that Fall. Stan and I decided to winterize our cottage early, to beat the worst of the cold weather. The wind seemed to blow through me more and more, bringing up that ugly light in my partners eyes with every time I shivered. For some reason, one day, Stan decided that our old shutters needed replacing, so we headed down to Laguna to try to find a decent set there.

That's when we saw him. My first impression was great beauty. Sam was a beauty, long and muscular, but fragile in a childlike way. Bare-chested, barefooted, he looked cold and afraid. Immediately, I insisted that we take him home. As usual, Stan indulged me. Those first few days, when he didn't speak, I grew worried. There was a something about him that nagged at me, a small voice inside myself that I refused to acknowledge for a while.

Once we got him cleaned up, the injuries he had started to show plainly. Mostly cuts and bruises, and signs that he'd been hurt in other ways. Stan could stomach that better than I could-it made me sick to think that someone would hurt this seemingly innocent man. I guess I did think of him as I would a child, and Stan was no help with his comments. The thing that got to me the most was those green eyes. So sad, alone, and distant. His thoughts were a million miles away, which is why we all thought he was not paying attention.

It took plenty of time and patience, but eventually Sam came around. After that trip with Jan he seemed more confident and happy than he had since we'd found him. That evening, as I watched him and Stan talk, I knew what had to be done.

From nearly the beginning, I knew that Stan was attracted to him. The stranger was mysterious, and Stan had even used the word beautiful to describe him. As much as I felt for the strays, I knew that my partner was the same. Sam was no exception-except that this 'stray' was here to stay.

I had AIDS. In 1997, I was diagnosed with the disease, and generally had been pretty quiet about it. With the money I made, and my parents inheritance, I could afford to keep it private. Stan knew, but no one else but my high priced doctor in Beverly Glen. The stigma was getting worse with every year-most of the former sympathy AIDS patients had received in the early history of the illness going by the wayside as it's patients, and the disease itself, lingered.

They'd given me two years in '97, and in 2000 I was still alive and pretty healthy, thanks to medication, experimentation, and constant vigilance by Stan of my health. If he sensed I was wearing myself down, I was sent to bed, or held by him until I slept. His business was thriving, allowing him to run most of the operation at home. After the Oscar contract, his security force wouldn't have much to worry about for the next five years or so.

I'd always been a beachcomber. When my parents had owned this cottage, before it became mine, I'd spent hours and hours walking all the lengths of sand between the place and Laguna-and even farther than that. I'd met Michael near Venice, doing his best to try to guard some photo shoot I was working on-security for the models. Once I'd noticed him, he'd been the one who needed protection! I didn't approach him until he passed me a note asking whether I was going to stare at him all day, or take him out to dinner. I took him out to for seafood-then, I took him home.

In a month, we were living together, another, married. Simple ceremony, done with just the two of us, a warm spring day in 1998. I'd been honest with him from the beginning about my illness, and he didn't care. Just wanted to be with me through it, and love me. We made love frequently, always with a condom. Michael was AIDS free, and I wasn't about to infect him.

One evening, we had a conversation about what would happen after I was dead. We talked until seven a.m., then slept in the entire day. What it all came down to, was to discover that Stan loved me more than I ever knew, that the depth of grief he'd feel at my death might kill him, as well, AIDS free or not.

That was when I actively began my quest. Stan had no idea what I was up to, since I had a long standing strays policy. What he didn't know was that I was determined to find him a companion, no matter what it took.

We found Sam three days after that discussion, curled up on Laguna Beach. Not only was Stan attracted to him sexually, but the two of them talked, really talked and had conversations. Stan was a smart man, more intelligent than most give him credit. A reader, a scholar. Most of the books in our library were from his collection, not mine. Big things, full of biographical information, literature. His main interest was just that-literature. He read every work of fiction given him, then devoured book after book in the library-over and over.

Sam loved to read, as well. When he wasn't reading, he would go down to the clinic and work with Jan. Both Stan and I told him he was a member of our family, and could stay forever as far as we cared. I found out several things; that he didn't cook, could sing very well, and that he'd lost someone who had lived with him. If we tried to pry, he'd clam up, go out to the beach, and play silent until the subject was changed.

Stan cared for him nearly as much as he did for me. I was seeing his eyes go to Sam and rest there, when the other man wasn't looking, of course. It wasn't love, or lust, just admiration for the beauty of the man and his totally unselfconscious way of behaving. If he thought he was beautiful, he didn't show it.

I was beginning to get sicker. Stan took me for my weekly trip to the hills, the doctor there giving me several dirty looks, admonishing me for exerting myself far more than I should. I had maybe a year, I guessed. Stan would be alone unless I took matters into my own hands.

The night I made the decision was two weeks after we'd found him. It was almost ten o'clock when Sam pulled Stan's car into the driveway. By mutual agreement, even though he had no i.d., we allowed him to use Stan's car occasionally when Jan wasn't on duty for some reason. That was one of those days. It was cold, down to fifty degrees and dropping. I told Stan I was off to bed when the car drove in, telling him to enjoy some quiet time with Sam and not to bother to come to bed until he wanted to. Barely looking up from his book, he grunted in assent and kissed me gently before I went to our room. Closing the door, hoping that the roaring fire and Stan's own attraction to Sam would work it's own magic.

_**Sam:**_

I'd been at the Clinic for six days, working under the name Dr. Sam Benton. I felt like something out of a Fugitive TV episode, constantly looking over my shoulder for shadows. I wasn't sure if Al was looking for me, but he was employed by the government-and I was sure if he wasn't trying to find me, they were. The clinic was a place for non-people to hide. The staff didn't give a damn as long as I was competent and willing to give them one hundred percent. With Jan's recommendation, they didn't question me for credentials, just asked for my name, address, and phone number. I went there from ten in the morning until whenever my services were no longer needed.

If what I'd had was a nervous breakdown, I was well on my way to recovering. Perhaps it had just been recovering from the Leaps-and nothing more.

I found myself fitting in with Michael and Stan's household. Whatever time I came home I always found a decent meal, or take out saved for me. After a week of living with them, both men told me it was my home now, and the room I had as much mine as the other was theirs. I didn't argue. It was a home, a safe place, and maybe a place to recover from my Michael's death. If I thought hard enough, I could imagine that my last forty-seven years had been nothing more than a bad dream, with some good tossed in for measure.

My family, Katie, Tom, Mom...they were probably considerably worried about me about now. Al, on the other hand, I'd not seen any sign of him, and almost felt a bit of resentment that he wasn't actively searching for me. If I really did see him now, I had a feeling I'd run.

Michael and I took long walks on the beach, and I jogged with Stan every single morning. Even with all the love and caring from them, I still woke at night afraid and wondering if my Michael would approve of my new life. Would he be angry? I could see his eyes in my sleep, hear his voice chiding me, then ... hurting. Punishing.

This night, Stan was in his spot on the couch, reading a book, Michael nowhere to be seen. I grabbed some of the warmed over soup on the stove, ate a few bites, then wandered over to check on what Stan was reading. Heady stuff, mostly in Italian or Greek. I never read over his shoulder, even when I understood the language. In an off-guard moment, Stan had told me he'd attended Oxford at one time, was very smart in the right ways, but discovered the real joy of learning was what he taught himself. What he really loved was his life here, reading, and running his business.

"Michael went to bed," Stan offered. Suddenly, I was aware of his gaze on me, blinking in the dim light from the fire. "When did you get home?"

"A few minutes ago," I managed, setting the bowl on a nearby table. Dead exhausted from the Clinic, I fell back on the thick carpet, basking in the warmth of the fire and the relaxing sound of the wood and cinders falling in the hearth. "It was a hell of a day."

"I can bet. Roll over onto your stomach." Looking concerned, Stan set the book aside and gestured at me with his head as I obeyed. "You look like you could use a good massage."

His light touch was magic, gently soothing away the pain and exhaustion. After a few minutes, I felt as if I could sink into the carpet, through the floor, and into the Earth itself. "That feels great," I murmured, the initial discomfiture fading with the warmth of his hands.

"It would feel better if you take your shirt off," he suggested. "It's rather difficult to massage through a sweatshirt."

Sitting up, I obediently pulled off the garment, and laid back down with my head pillowed on my forearms. As I took the shirt off, Stan had gotten up momentarily, retrieved something from the kitchen or bath, then came back into the room. When his hands touched my back, something very warm and soothing was on them, being worked into the skin of my neck and shoulders. Closing my eyes, I sank into his touch, the back of my mind wondering if Michael would approve of this clinch, then dismissing the thought. After all, it was only a backrub, perfectly harmless."

"Sam?"

"Mmm?"

My eyes snapped open the moment his lips touched the nape of my neck. Briefly, I struggled against his touch, but he held me down, breathing warm against my oiled skin. "Stan, what..."

As if caught in an illegal or illicit act, he backed away from me instantly, one hand steadily rubbing on my back, his body falling back on the carpet. "Christ, I'm sorry," he murmured, sounding shocked and sincere. "I lost myself for a bit and..."

"Don't worry." Sitting up, I faced him, kneeling and bracing my hands on his shoulders. "Do you want me, Stan?" I meant every word of what I was offering him-myself. My Michael had taught me well. If one wanted you, and made ovations of the same, you were to commit yourself to whatever act they wanted, be it a beating or sex. It didn't matter-I was no better than a prostitute. Michael had told me as such, and it had to be so.

"Sam, this isn't right. Michael..."

"He's asleep. If you want me, he'll understand. It means nothing, anyway. Just sex." Something took over in me, the sane part of my mind that had been struggling to stay afloat suddenly sinking under a wave of Michael induced control. Dead or not, my ex-lover was still in my mind, steering and manipulating the very words I said.

The expression on Stan's face was a mixture of lust and love. I'd not missed those half-hidden looks flashed behind my back-I'd seen every single one. If he wasn't in love with me, it was lust. I had to soothe his curiousity-it was my duty. It was all I was good for. After all, he and his lover had taken me in. I owed them.

Leaning closer, I let my hands dangle from his shoulders, my fingers touching his shoulder blades as I kissed him. There was no resistance, his lips moving under mine until I found myself on my back beneath his body, no turning back.

Fingers fumbling at the opening of my jeans, I allowed him to jerk the garment from my legs and toss it across the room. Before I could take another breath, his mouth was moving down my chest, his hands pinning me against the carpet as he nibbled and sucked his way over my stomach and lower areas. I nearly screamed as his tongue touched my cock, then that warm wetness enveloping my entire organ. He sucked me to completion, draining me in moments. I'd not had sex since my Michael-so I was ready for this.

When he finished, he kissed me again, the faint traces of my sex in his taste. "Anything you want," I breathed, meeting his bright gaze. His fingers moved down my face a moment, his mouth upturned in a gentle smile. "Anything you want, Stan," I repeated.

"Anything?" There was a little danger in his smile, as he pressed his naked body against mine. I didn't move away or resist, even when he eased a finger into my ass. If that was what he wanted, what he had to have, then it was his. "Sam, are you sure?"

"As sure as you are," I said, closing my eyes.

_**AL:**_

Lawrence and I began our search where we found Sam's car. Everything had to be kept private. Any slip, any bad publicity or indiscretion could destroy what was left of Sam's professional career. I'd always been his protector and wasn't about to drop that mantle, not yet. With each passing day, and no sign of Sam, I started to think the worse.

From the few horror stories Lawrence had told me about the beach area, I felt sick and afraid. Gays, especially healthy, good-looking ones, like Sam, were easy prey to sick people down there. Lately, there had been a rash of disappearances of young males, from just the area where Sam had vanished. Some folks had said they'd seen him taken away in blue minivan. That didn't fit the M.O. of the abductions, but I worried sick regardless.

There was no trace. A week went by, then two. The admistration unit back at the Project was beginning to get edgy-Sam was supposed to be the one on vacation, not me. Pulling every string I had left to yank on, I managed to put their complaints on hold for a while. None of them, not one suit among 'em, wanted bad publicity at this juncture. My orders came down-find Sam within the next seven days, or they'd send in their own retrieval unit.

There was a circle of people that Lawrence knew who wanted to help. In Sam's present state of mind I was afraid he'd had that nervous breakdown. Bena faxed me the most recent photo we had of Sam, his hair tousled, just after he'd came back to us. The look in his eyes as he looked into the lense was enough to make me want to break down. I'd taken the picture; the expression in his eyes was expectation and longing.

"Looks like a man in love," Lawrence commented as I handed him the fax. His face smoothed into affectionate lines as he held it.

"Does it really?" I replied, without humor, snatching the photo back from him. "I know what I know-and the rest is none of your business."

I was growing weary of that look that crossed Lawrence's face when I told him whatever was in my mind was mine alone, and not for his public consumption. As if he knew every thought in my head, and what ways to respond to them. I was scared. If that retrieval team came in, Sam would no longer be a private citizen on 'vacation'. He'd be a valued asset that needed to be hunted down and destroyed if he were too far gone. Of course, nothing bad would happen to Sam until they pulled and drained every bit of information they could out of him.

Jumping into my rented car, I let Lawrence hit his side of town, and I went where I 'felt' Sam would go. Los Angeles was a spread out city and I knew that of all the thousands of places he could go, the beach area was a good place to start.

I targeted the places where some of Lawrence's friends had told me gays hung out. The photo was passed hand to hand around there, and I rechecked every day or so, in case someone turned in a photo for the reward I offered. Finally, after nearly three days, I got a nibble.

The guy was edgy, nibbling at his fingernails, eyeing me suspiciously as I approached. Dirty black hair hung down below his shoulders, just brushing the the beaten up leather jacket he wore.

"I was told by the guy at the clinic that you wanted to see me." I'd dropped the photos off at one of hundreds of clinics in the area, mostly catering to street people and AIDS cases.

"Max." The man didn't offer me his hand. "I'm just Max. They said there was a reward."

"There is-if what you tell me pans out." I eyed him carefully, weighing each word he said, judging truth against what he said.

"I saw the guy."

"Where? When?"

"I dunno when. A week ago maybe?" Squinting against the brilliant sunlight that hit him squarely in the eyes, he seemed to be thinking. "He was at the Hudson clinic. Inner city."

I felt a lump in my throat. What had Sam done to himself? "How sick was he?"

"Sick? Hell, he wasn't sick." The guy nearly laughed. "He was a doctor. ."

"Benton?"

"Yeah. Everyone knows the guy. He's like Mother Teresa down there. Jan-she found him somewhere. Knows his stuff and doesn't care how sick you are-he'll help out."

I felt my heart quicken that there might be a chance this guy was dead on and Sam was down in the slums doing this. It would add up-an easy place to hide, using his medical knowledge for the good of others. "Can you take me there?"

"No prob. Do I get paid?"

"Son," I commented, pointing him in the direction of my car. "If you're being straight with me, I'll give you the frigging contents of my wallet-including the credit cards." His thin face lit up at that and I dreaded keeping my end of the bargain.

So I'd give him a department store one. I doubted if he'd know the difference, shape he was in. The clinic was hidden between two condemned buildings and a housing project. From every corner suspicious or hostile gaze watched as I got out of the car and approached the entrance. The clinic was one I had not seen in the guide-one of those non-profit, runs on government induced steam and little else ghetto field hospitals.

As I entered the place I was struck by the heat that hit me. Strange how the amount of body per inch ratio can heat up a semi-airconditioned room. Black, brown, and white faces glared at me and my fine clothes, as if I really didn't have a right to be there. They weren't half wrong, I figured. Approaching the desk, I faced the tired woman sitting behind it.

"Can you help me?" I handed her the photo. "Have you seen this man?"

Her face remained dead pan. "I"ll call Jan," she mumbled. I knew she was dead tired; it showed in her eyes. "She can talk to you."

'Jan' was an attractive blond, looking far older than I figured she was. Her gaze was as distrustful as the others had been. Max was waiting by the door, anxious that I'd leave before giving him his reward.

Scrawling something unintelligible on a clipboard, she avoided my gaze. "Make it quick," she snapped, still scribbling. "I'm busy."

"I wanted to know if you've seen this man."

Her eyes rested on the photo of Sam, then met mine. "Why do you want to know?"

"He's a friend of mine-and in big trouble if I don't find him soon."

"What kind of trouble?"

"Government trouble. I'm worried about him. The gent over by the door said he saw him here, working as a doctor, saying his name was Benton."

"Who are you?"

"I've been answering your questions...Jan. Now, I want a few damned answers of my ..."

Just as the words left my lips, Sam came in, about to say something but freezing the moment he saw me. 'Jan' glanced from him to me, a curious and worried look passing over her expression.

"Sam, this man says..."

"You know who he is, Jan." Sam's voice was as flat as his gaze. "What do you want, Al?"

"Sam, I came to take you home." Taking one step toward him, he stepped back in a mirror image of my movements. "If it's not me," I added firmly,"It'll be the government. You're due back in New Mexico in two days. If you don't show up, the team is coming out here for you. I've been kicking up dirt looking for you from the beach to the mountains and all the shitholes in between."

"My home is here," he said quietly, his eyes avoiding my face. Why couldn't he look at me, I wondered? "I have responsibilities. This is my job now."

"Is it really? What about the project, Sam?" I knew if anything, that would draw him back to New Mexico. "What about all the support people or your dreams? You stay away and it all falls apart."

"Project Quantum Leap is as dead as Michael is, Admiral." His voice had turned cold and unerringly angry. "If the Unit wants me I'm sure you'll tell them where I am."

I was about to retort, when the front door burst open and a young black man was carried into the room, reeking of blood, a large gash torn across his arm and upper chest.

In an instant, Sam was moving, taking the man into an examining room, cutting away the clothing, and binding the wounds. All the while, Jan kept an eye on me, distrustful as hell. As a doctor, Sam was no slouch, every bit of attention and care focused on the young construction worker. He'd been hurt, as I found out later, by a falling beam, nearly cutting his arm off in the process.

I'd forgotten what a good physician Sam was. In the years before he Leaped he'd not been practicing medicine all that much. Even when a minor injury occured on the project site, Sam was the one who would take care of the wounded party, doing his work with compassion and a little humor. I could almost see him when we'd had a minor fire, and Gooshie had flash burns on his hands. In less time than he could feel the pain, Sam had cleaned the injuries and applied bandages. Nothing was done by halves with this man, including medicine.

"Admiral?"

Glancing just to my right, I frowned. The blonde gave me a poisonous look. "I'm not leavin'," I said quickly, softly. "I've spent far too much time looking for him and I'm not about to leave now. Not until we can talk."

"I wish you'd leave him well enough alone." She kept her voice carefully modulated. "He's just beginning to feel good about himself again."

"And what would you know about that?"

"I don't. He's got a life here, like he said, and he wants to put the past behind him. Can't you see..."

"I've known that man for nearly thirty years. His likes, dislikes, the way he eats his breakfast. He's like a son to me, and I don't want to lose him. If he wants to dump what work he's begun out in New Mexico, then so be it." I meant that with every breath of my body. "I want him to be happy-but I want to make sure he's whole and alive when I leave him here. Someone hurt him, someone you may or may not know about."

The ambulance had arrived to take the injured man to the hospital nearest the clinic. Thanks to Sam's expert doctoring, he seemed stable enough that I could tell he'd make it. Blood tinged to his elbows, Sam stared at his patient a moment, then back to me. Turning, he went to the door marked "Men". Without hesitation, I followed, doing my best to ignore the death ray glare the woman doctor was giving me.

Standing over a dirty sink, he washed himself carefully, using plenty of soap and water. "I gave you my answer," he said softly, not even turning as I entered the room. "I'm not going back. I'm needed here."

Rocking back on my heels, I watched him clean up, wondering what I could say to that. "So we set you up with a computer and you can talk to Zig all you want from here."

Head bent, he sighed as he shut the water off. "Why did you kill Michael?" he asked, still not turning to look at me.

"I didn't kill him." The question really surprised me, making me realize that Sam really believed I was responsible for the man's death. "I was trying to take you home with me, or over to Bena's, Sam. Michael...your friend...he was using and controlling your every move. Christ, when we cleaned up your place, there was blood..."

"That was none of your affair." His voice was cold as ice. "I was hurt by him because I either asked for it, or deserved it. You..."

"Sam, please shut the fuck up." I didn't say the words with a snap, but they had the right effect nevertheless. "Just listen, all right? I didn't want to see the man dead-I was worried about you. If he chose to take his car off a cliff, then so be it, Sam. If you had come to me in the first place with your problems..."

"You mean my homosexuality?" He seemed to be scrubbing the skin right off his hands.

"I don't give two hoots if you do it with llamas, Sam. Or sheep, or any variety in between. I care about you, kiddo, whether you choose to believe it or not. If you want to come home, fine. If not, you have responsibilities, Sam. To Bena, to your friends you've left behind. I'm sure there's a damned good chance I can talk the feds out of forcing you backsearching for you, if you decide to use a PC out here to run things, but you do have friends, and you can't forget them."

I knew I was beginning to get through to him. Just as I was about to force him to face what I had to say, the door behind me opened.

"Sam?"

Turning, I confronted someone tall, muscular, and looking mighty protective. From the look on Sam's face, I wondered if he was frightened of what the guy would do to me, or what he was capable of doing to Sam.

_**Sam:**_

I didn't know what to say to Al. The sight of him was a shock. We'd been so busy that day, patching up cuts, sick kids with the newest strain of flu, and then...Al. My healing mind was still angry with him, still blamed him...for Michael. In my heart, I still longed for him-missed him. His words about the Team coming to retrieve me caused a cold hand to tighten around my stomach. I was still government property, regardless of what was going on in my head. I had several months left on my contract-and I knew I had to close up an deal with PQL. Responsibilities that couldn't be avoided unless I wanted to risk arrest or worse.

Strain was a tangible presence between us. Distrust was thick in the air-mostly one-sided-my side. When Stan walked into the bathroom I was relieved. Here was someone who could be a buffer between me and reality.

Brows drawing together, Stan gave Al a look, then back to me, handing a towel out, questioning silently.

"Admiral Al Calavicci," Al said, without hesitation, pouring on the charm that worked with men and women alike.

"Charmed." Stan gave him a scowl, then turned back to me. "Are you staying late tonight or do you need a lift now?"

"We're busy, Stan." Regardless of Al's presence or Stan's protective influence that I felt right now, I had duties here. "Jan can't keep this place even and I really should be out there now." Running from the room, I returned to my patients.

Outside of a strange look or two, Jan didn't ask questions. By and by, I realized that both Stan and Al were sitting in the lobby, waiting, probably, until hell froze over for me to get off work and go to them. When I could spare a second, I could see how tired Al looked, down to the bones. I'd caused that-even Michael's death didn't hurt as much-and I knew I couldn't blame him.

It took us three hours to clear the waiting room, another to clean up. By that time, Al and Stan were beginning to look competitive, and almost threatening to each other. I almost wanted to run out the back door, to avoid making a decision either way, just get out and do what I'd done before.

Knowing that was not the way to go, I jerked on my coat and walked out to the entrance, Jan's worried gaze on me the entire time. Al was on his feet the moment I entered, looking expectant and weary. Stan just looked fierce and protective. What could I choose?

"Sam..."

"We really need to be getting home, Sam. Michael ..."

Al stepped between me and my friend, one hand resting on my shoulder. He'd probably spent that whole time thinking what he'd do as a last resort should I choose to go with Stan. "It's me or the Feds, Sam." Those words put a solid lump of ice in my stomach. "They want you to finish their contract. There's at least another year on it, maybe a little more. I don't want you going to their offices under force-or a hospital." His words were a slick blur, streaming out as quickly as he could speak. "You got me, Sam? Do you understand? They won't just come out and pick you up; they'll find some way to force you to finish the damned thing. If you come back, well, it'll be easier on you-and everyone. You can shut Ziggy down, or set her up for the environmental..."

"You're speaking nonsense." Stan grabbed Al by the arm and tried to foist him off of me. "Who do you think...?"

"He's Admiral Albert Calavicci," I said, my mouth going dry. "I have to go back with him, Stan. No choice." I couldn't let my own problems escalate to the point where I'd be arrested-or worse. The confused and hurt expression on Stan's face cut me to the heart. What could I tell him-my whole life with him and Michael had been lies. I'd never even given him my name.

"Let him go," I said quietly.

Stan jerked away from Al, almost letting him stumble into a wall. The look on my old friends face was beyond anger-I knew that Al hated being man-handled in any way, and was prepared to retaliate-but had the good wisdom, at least this time, to back off and not threaten Stan.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you the full truth." Jan's eyes were probing into me, listening to every word I said as I confessed to Stan. "My name is Dr. Sam Beckett. I'm a physicist, employed by the government. I left a top secret project in New Mexico without authorization-and now I have to go back."

The handsome face when blank for a moment, then angry. "This little man can't force you, Sam. No one can. Michael and I will fight this in court. We'll..."

"It's gone beyond that," I whispered, glancing at Al. "Way beyond, I'm afraid. I have to leave, Stan. I don't have a choice."

Al looked just plain sorrowful. I couldn't describe the look on his face. Somehow he realized he was taking me away from a place of safety and didn't want to release me back to PQL-or the Squad there. I was in plenty of trouble, maybe more than he could talk them out of this time.

I didn't even seem to hate him all that much anymore. Feeling a hand on my elbow, I glanced down and smiled at Jan. She was on the edge of tears. "I'm sorry, most of all, because I didn't tell you this wouldn't last. That I have to leave you in the middle of all this."

"Long as you're coming back," she said firmly, almost believing it, maybe hoping I did, too. "You get a week, Sam Beckett."

"It might take considerably more than a week," Al said quietly, almost apologetically. "If there aren't any unforeseen circumstances, then we can only hope Sam can return soon. To both of you."

I wondered if it was my imagination that made me hear the break in his voice.

"You will come home before you leave," Stan said, giving Al a glare that broached no argument. "There is no way I'm explaining this to Michael."

There were tons of things I'd done, but having sex with Stan without Michael knowing about it had been maybe the worst. That - and blaming Al for my other Michael's death. With every moment I was near him, I was beginning to feel the anger and old blame lift from me. Not completely, but enough that I felt some nuance of joy again. I'd not felt all that good since I'd lost Al when I'd ran from him.

"What..." Closing my eyes, I licked my lips, suddenly dry as dust. "What will we tell Michael?"

"The truth," Stan replied, handing me my coat. "Everything from the beginning."

From the look Al was switching between the two of us, I figured he and I would have a lively conversation on the flight back to New Mexico.

The evening had the heat of the day clinging to it, almost humid from the inner city streets. Jan had volunteered to take Al's car to the agency, and both he and I would ride home with Stan to pick up a few things of mine, then head for New Mexico.

"Damn."

The soft oath uttered by Al made me hesitate before getting in the passenger side of Stan's car. Almost instinctively his body blocked mine from the street. "What is going on?" I asked, allowing it, giving Stan a worried look as he unlocked the door.

"The Squad, Sam." Al had gone pale, jerking open the car door and shoving me inside, then scrambling in behind me. Stan's eyes had flicked to Al, then the street as he'd said the words, his eyes narrowing in a threatening way, as if realizing the danger and allowing his old training to kick in. Stan had once worked for CI5 in England, quitting when he'd decided it wasn't his cup of tea. "They're parked down the street," Al said, leaning over the front seat as Stan started the car. One of his hands was on my shoulder, as if to make sure I was really there and not an illusion. I didn't shrug away from it. "I'm losing my touch," he said, a little breathlessly. "Didn't even know they were following me."

Stan drove calmly, but expertly. After a few blocks, he swore he'd shaken the cars, then we turned to the beach area and home. The car became uncomfortably quiet as both Al and I tried to think of something that could be said.

"I didn't kill him, Sam," he said finally, sinking back in the seat behind me. "I swear I'd go over the cliff myself if it would hurt less."

My eyes were blurred with tears, throat tight against release. Stan's glance at me was filled with love and concern, not that he really understood any of what was said-or maybe he did. "I...I know it wasn't your fault," I whispered. "It hurt, Al. It hurt more than you realized-he was all that..." I choked back the controlling words. I was sure it was all manipulation he'd used on me, words I'd say after his death, to myself and others. "Al, you and Bena...were right. He was using me. I tried to get away." The words sounded reluctant to my ears. "You were sure he was hurting me-but everytime I tried to leave him he'd make me stay. Soon, I didn't care much except that he loved me, and told me what to do."

"Sam, I know."

Swallowing hard, I nodded, feeling Stan's hand enclose one of mine, supporting with his touch. "You knew how I felt about you, Al. Michael forced the issue. I'm sorry. I had no right to..."

"We'll talk about it, kid." He sounded tired, worried, but a little as if he'd thought about what he'd say to me. The firm grip of Stan's hand on mine tightened a bit, as if he was afraid of losing me. With a sinking feeling, I realized this might be our last time together for a while, if not forever.

_**AL:**_

Every second we spent in that car was precious time lost-and I knew the Squad was on our butt. Mr. Intimidation up in front with Sam was pretty cocky, thinking he'd shook an elite security staff with more firepower than most of the streets we'd been in by some simple maneuvering. I knew it was only a matter of minutes before we were captured. I'd do my damndest to keep them from Sam, knowing what they'd do to him.

"What is it, Al?" Turning to meet my gaze, I could see Sam knew something was up. "You've got that look on your face."

"They won't stop until they get us, Sam." His face fell at my words, but he could see the truth in them. "You left without telling them, kiddo. They don't listen to explanations from nearly retired Admirals when their prize slips out for a powder. Word got leaked out-and not from me. They heard you had a breakdown. I tried holding 'em off, but..."

"They think I'll give out state secrets," he murmured, the realization filling his eyes. "Or that I'll never come back so they can bleed me dry."

"Maybe not so severe as all that, Sam," I said, trying to soothe him down. "Mostly, they want to arrest you for questioning-and, considering I've been out of touch for a couple of days...they'll probably want me, too."

I couldn't fathom the fear that filled his eyes at that. I almost made some sarcastic comment about him really caring about me, and didn't. I'd done way enough and making a mockery of the love he had for me, no matter what form it took, was completely out of line. I had a feeling that Sam would go and do whatever it took to keep me, and his friends, safe. Even if it meant his own life.

Rolling to a stop in front of a comfortable ocean view cottage, we all got out of the car and hurried inside. The man who met us at the door was wrapped in a blanket, under which it looked like he was wearing about three layers of clothing. With a sinking feeling, I noticed that he had the same sallow complexion, gaunt build, of some of the folks at that clinic Sam had been working at. This man had AIDS.

"Michael," Sam said, placing one arm over the younger man's. "This is my...my friend. Al. Al Calavicci. We need to talk."

"If we have time, Sam," I reiterated. "My suggestion is to get the hell out of here where we're both sitting ducks and..."

"I told you, Admiral." Stan said the title with deep sarcasm. "We lost 'em."

"Lost who?" Michael looked lost himself.

"The government wants to find me," Sam said with great difficulty. "I work for them-and have a contract. I took off without telling them I'd be back, and now I'm in a fix. Al...he came to find me. I have to leave with him."

Glancing at Stan, Michael gripped Sam's left forearm with as much strength as I could imagine he had. "We'll call a lawyer, won't we, Stan? We'll keep you here and ..."

"It won't work." Sliding down the length of Michael, Sam held him with such tenderness that I wondered at what actually had been going on in this place. Initially, I'd thought that he and the bodybuilder were the pair, not he and this one. "You've taken good care of me, but I can't stay and endanger you both. I'm grateful for the time and love you've given me, and I'll be back as soon as I can."

The fight had left Michael's eyes, closing them when Stan lowered his hand to the man's shoulder. "I know about you and Stan," Michael said, a slight grin appearing on his face. "I arranged it." Other than a gasp from the man behind him there was no other sign of surprise. Sam's expression remained impassive. "I wanted you to be here when I die, to take care of him, Sam. Who'll take care of him when I go now?"

"I said I'd be back," Sam said, his voice on the edge. "Ask Al about how I keep my word."

"I've known him since he was in college," I said quietly. "If Sam tells you he'll do something, he'll do it, whether you want him to or not."

In a moment, Stan came from behind Michael and pulled Sam to his feet, wrapping him in a three way hug that buried my friend's face so I couldn't see his expression. I didn't feel so much left out as anxious. Those bloodhounds could be on us at any moment.

"We have to go, Sam."

Nodding, Sam broke away from the other two men, and, surprisingly, I was handed car keys. Stan's eyes met mine with a look that boded no nonsense. "Take care of him," he said darkly. "If it wasn't for Michael, I'd be with you both. If something should happen to Sam, I'll see you in hell."

"I don't doubt it," I responded, closing my hands over the metal, not flinching from his gaze. "I'll take care of him, so help me. Call your lawyer and make sure you're protected. I'll do the best I can to move Sam from the country if I have to. We'll be in touch."

They watched us leave from the cottage door, close together, backlit by the light from the porch. Slumped in the passenger seat, Sam looked sorrowfilled, tears dripping down his smooth cheeks and onto his white shirt. He was still dressed in the clothing he'd worn at work,

"You gonna be okay?" I asked softly, turning onto a street that, hopefully, would lead us to the Pacific Coast Highway and the cabin north of San Francisco where we could hide and think up our next course of action.

"Fine." He said the word without emotion, his eyes riveted on his lap. "Where are we going?"

"I have a cabin in Big Bear-used to be a friend's place a while back."

"A friend."

"Angie-the receptionist at Beechman and Fricks. Y'know, my divorce attorney. She sold me the place six years ago, and I've never used it. It's still in her name."

"What if she's using it?"

"She's been dead for three years," I replied, turning onto the ramp and down to the highway. "I doubt if there's much up there but ghosts." We drove in silence for miles, until finally I pulled off the highway and into a rest stop. This time of year there were no other vehicles parked or using the facilities.

"Potty break," I said, trying to cut through the silence. Without a word, Sam followed me into the bathroom, used it, then went to the bank of machines out in the foyer, poking in coins and pulling out candy bars and a soda.

"Would you like something?" he asked absently, giving me a glance. "There's Coke, and Pepsi-even coffee if you..."

"I'd like to talk, if you want to." Sam's mouth shut-tight as a clam. "Kid, please," I asked softly, coming over to his side and trying to put my arm around him. He shrugged away from it. "I'm sorry about Michael. I'm sorry that I had to take you away from those two. They seemed like good guys."

His lips trembled at the mention of his friends. Taking a deep breath, he pushed out of the place, going straight to the car and closing the passenger side door behind him.

Sliding into my seat, I turned the key and pulled out. So far, we'd been lucky. What I really wanted to do was pull the car in somewhere and trade it in for another model. Seeing it was borrowed, I would most certainly replace it when we could. I told Sam of my plan and he only nodded. Outside of those few words we'd exchanged at the rest stop, the air between us remained silent and uncomfortable.

In a small town some distance up the coast, we traded the sedan in for a truck and continued on our journey. The silence was getting to me, with each mile the quiet cutting in between us like a knife. It used to be our way to constantly talk before all this had happened. This man next to me wasn't the kid I knew who had built PQL. I missed him. I missed his camaderie, the way he'd impulsively hug me whenever the mood took him. Now, he seemed miles away, his eyes riveted on the window, the passing scenery, only changing expression when I turned off into the mountains.

"Another fifty miles or so," I said quietly, pulling off the main road and onto what constituted as not much more than a path. Turning off the engine, I reached over and, for the first time, took Sam's hand in mine. "Listen to me, kid," I began. "I don't know how to get to you. I've made some mistakes, but what I did back in New Mexico wasn't one of them. That guy was slowly killing your spirit. Bena saw it and lifted the blinders off my eyes. I'm sorry he died, and I'm glad you found those two in California. When this is all over, I promise that I'll make sure you go back there right away, if that's what you want. I'll make up for everything I've ever done, but don't hate me, Sam. Please."

I didn't expect the tears that fell again, or the way he let me hold him. Carefully, I brought my hand up, patting his back in some form of comfort. I just wasn't used to holding him like this. "I take that you don't hate me, eh?" I said, trying to lighten the mood.

"I don't hate you," he managed, burying his head on my shoulder. "I didn't know what to think." Pulling away, he accepted the tissue I handed him and wiped his tears away. Blowing his nose, he grinned at the noise. I'd always made comments about that particular sound waking the dead or whatever. "You showed up looking for me."

"Me and that friend of yours. Lawrence. Nice guy. I saw some property up the hill from his that would be pretty nice, someday."

"You and Tina?"

"Tina and I are not an item, Sam. She's with Gooshie now-and I haven't had time to date for months. That little trip I took with Tina wasn't much-mostly goodbye. I spent most of my so-called vacation alone. What I really want is to get some groceries and go to the cabin before we get caught with our pants down...you know what I mean."

"You're pretty sensitive to that, aren't you?"

"To what?" Frowning, I turned the engine over.

"My being gay. It does bother you."

"Maybe a little," I said honestly. He seemed pleased that I didn't make something up. Pulling out off the shoulder, I turned back and hit the main road, hoping we could make it to the cabin soon. "Not as much as you think, Sam. I can deal with it as long as I know you're...well, that you're still my friend and won't run off like that again."

"You do care."

"Of course I do, you nincompoop!"

_**Sam:**_

Once Al and I had our 'talk' I felt much better. The distance between us seemed to shrink slightly. By the time we reached the town near the cabin, we were at least talking, which was a start. The thing that kept me farthest from Al was that I still loved him the way I had when I first came home. I missed Stan and Michael, and I understood better why my other Michael had to be dealt with, but I still loved this man next to me. Telling him that would be a little easier now, but not by much. I had no idea what I could possibly say to him.

"I need to make a phone call," I said, as we packed the last of the groceries in the truck. "To Michael and Stan. They can't have a bug on their phone, can they?"

"It's altogether possible, but give it a shot, Sam." Al looked plain worried, grabbing his ever present briefcase from the passenger side where my feet had kept bumping it. "Use this phone and dial 2-2 before you call 'em. Trust me."

Curious, I did as told and found that the call went through a complicated array of switches and relays. It would take trace five minutes, tops, enough time for me to call my friends, let them know I was safe, then duck out. The phone rang twice before it was answered. I knew it was late, but hoped that Stan would be up.

"Hello?"

"It's Sam." I smiled at Stan's sleepy voice. "I miss you. Al and I are fine."

"They were here-twice. I think they've got this place staked out, maybe even have bugged the phone. Take care of yourself, Sammy. Don't forget us." His voice had turned caressing. I almost wanted to cry. "I miss you, and so does Michael."

"I miss you, too." My voice broke, only Al's profile as he waited for me to finish the call soothing me down. "I'll be back when I can-and I'll stay in touch. Goodbye, Stan."

Hanging up the phone, I let Al take my arm as we went back to the truck. Just his friendly touch was enough to soothe me. As he started the truck, I eased back against the seat. "It's late. Stan said they were there twice."

"I figured as much." Anger touched my friend's face for a moment as we pulled out of the market lot. "In about an hour we'll be at the cabin. We've been lucky so far-let's just hope our fortune holds out."

The cabin was tiny; even Al seemed surprised at the size of it. It'd taken longer than an hour-more like two. We'd miscalculated distance and which small road to take off the main one. It looked like a garage or a shed-not a place where people actually lived.

Looking uncomfortable, Al pulled in and shut off the engine, leaving the headlights on to help us see our way to unpacking the truck and getting things to rights. "It's not the Taj Majal," he commented softly. "It's safe and private and it'll give us time to think."

"I think we're in more trouble," I said quietly, ducking my head. "Running is ..."

"Sam, listen to me." I met his eyes, deep in his drawn face. "If they sent the Team after you they have no intention of letting you close PQL nice and neat-they want a weapon. Without you, they have nothing. Ziggy won't respond to anyone but you or me. We might be stuck up here for a long time, maybe months. I pulled enough cash out of the bank in LA to get us through a while-most of which is in that briefcase you were bitching about. We can get your friends to do the same, if they want to."

"They might want to use my time machine to hurt people."

"I think I made that pretty clear."

"If we're up here for...months..." I let my voice taper off. Michael would be dead when I saw Stan again. I'd have broken my promise.

"I'm sorry, Sam. They have to understand-and I'm sure they will when they figure out who you are."

"I never really told them. Maybe Jan will now." Wiping away another onslaught, I threw myself into hauling things into the cabin and hoping the threatening sky above us wouldn't open up before we could figure if the roof was solid.

The one room contained a wood burning stove, some dusty looking kerosene lanterns, a small fireplace, and one bed, a double. Dust covered all, disturbed when we set things down and tried to clean. The doctor side of me would not allow a filthy place, and never where I'd sleep. Fortunately, the bed and other furniture had been covered, Amused, Al watched as he cooked, grinning as I cleaned and dusted, getting water from the well outside and making sure the outhouse was stocked with toilet paper.

Sitting down to dinner, I was satisfied that our 'home' was clean and in order-at least somewhat. It was also cold-even with the wood stove, the cold was intense. I wasn't about to light a fire in the hearth until I was sure the chimney was thoroughly cleaned.

"I don't remember you cooking very much before," I commented, taking another forkful of the dinner Al had tossed together. "This isn't bad."

"Hamburger Helper," Al commented, smiling at the compliment. "Lasanga with some of that cheese we found. It was that or hot dogs. You looked hungry enough to eat just about anything."

"Not anything. You know I'm a light eater." I'd consumed about a third of what was on my plate, suddenly realizing how tired I was. Exhausted. I'd worked at the clinic for about twelve hours or more, then the trip up here without a nap. My head was nodding over my plate before I realized it, Al gently easing the fork from my fingers and helping me into bed. I was barely aware of him taking my shoes off before I passed into oblivion.

Jerking upright, I screamed, then collapsed in Michael's arms. "God, I had a..."

"Sam, it's Al." Lit by golden light from the kerosene lantern, Al was smiling at me, both hands pressing down on my shoulders. "You were screaming for Michael."

"It's not unusual," I said, wide awake now. "Sorry for scaring you like that."

"No big deal. I was sitting outside having a cigar and contemplating what we'll do if they find us. I thought maybe we could play Boy Scouts and hike off into the woods."

"I was a Boy Scout."

"Yeah, your Mom told me that-an Eagle Scout. So was Tom."

"Tom." Closing my eyes, I could picture him when he'd become an Eagle Scout, with Mom and Dad so proud, grinning at me and saying how I'd be one someday. "He'd hate what I've become. When I was home he told me all gays were fags, infected with AIDS."

"When did that subject come up?" Surprisingly, he sounded angry. "And, for that matter, what business was it of his?"

"When I nearly got picked up in a bar we were in."

"Picked up in a bar? Isn't that a little...dangerous?"

"I guessed so, but I didn't know what else to do." It was odd to sit there discussing my sex life with Al. Actually, it was something I never imagined I'd ever talk about with him. "That's how I met Lawrence."

"The man you went to in California."

"Yes. He knew Michael-the one that lived with me in Alamogordo." Frowning, I realized I didn't hurt when I said his name this time. It almost made me smile. "I knew I was gay, Al. Bena told me it was repressed." With every sentence the words poured out of me. "I didn't know what to do, who to talk to-or what I could do for this. It was the worst and best thing that ever happened to me. I felt at first like I had a sickness, then realized it was my gender and I needed someone to be with."

"And you met Lawrence." Al still had his hand on my arm, listening to every word I said.

"I met him in a bar, Al. He took me with him and taught me what I needed to know. In a few days, I felt better with my chosen lifestyle...and let him love me. Even the sex was good-better than anything in my life. For the first time I felt complete."

"What about all those women on the Leaps, Sam?"

My head came up at that, meeting his eyes. It was the only question he'd asked me that had any kind of uncertainty in it. "Bena says I loved them all, Al. I meant it when I said that I have to love someone to go to bed with them. Maybe I'm bi, not gay, but I prefer the company of men."

"I understand, Sam." Al leaned down and pressed me back against the pillow. "I'll be here in a bit-I'm just damping the stove down so we don't have a fire."

"Here?" My mouth went dry as I realized what he was saying.

"It's either here or the floor, Sam, and from the looks on the rat's faces around here I'd rather be elevated."

Rolling over onto my side, away from the rest of the room, I closed my eyes, praying for sleep. The sound of the stove door closing and Al blowing out the lamp signalled that he was coming to bed. It was very cold in the room, almost bitter. As the mattress sunk under his weight, I loosened my grip on the blankets so he could have some, as well.

Exhaustion won over the tension I felt, soon pulling me under even Al's snoring. My sleep, I knew, would be deep and hopefully, dreamless.

_**Al:**_

Sunlight pouring through the windows facing the East, I blinked awake, finding myself held in a web of arms and legs. Sam Beckett. I'd slept with Sam under different circumstances, once upon a time, and had awoke with the tangle around me. Even now, it didn't bother or make me feel strange. Actually, with the comparative temperature of the room around us, I welcomed the body heat. At least he didn't snore.

Just as he was on the fringes of waking, I made a decision. As touchy as he was, I didn't want him jolting away from me, thinking I was disgusted by his 'show' of affection, even if it had been in sleep. When his eyes cracked open, I could see the fear and upset in them. "You're okay, Sammy," I said softly as he stirred in my arms. "Just give it a minute and let the quiet settle over you."

"Quiet?" Fully awake, he sunk into the pillow again, almost relaxing in my arms. "God, you aren't kidding. I hear...rain?"

"Well, it is clouding up." The sun that had woken us was fast disappearing. "The mountains are like that."

"You're holding me."

"Actually, you sort of snarled me up, but that's fine." I didn't want him thinking anything bad anymore, about me, or his choice of gender. "It's freezing cold and you seem to be keeping me warm."

"Al." His eyes met mine, very confused for a moment. "I..."

"Now you listen to me, kid." I had sensed his worry every minute since we'd gotten up here. What I had to do was alleviate as much of that as possible. "In my way, Sam, I care a lot about you. If you'd come to me in the first place with this maybe I'd have blown up, but we would have gotten around it. I can't stop caring about you. You've given me ...well, food for thought as it were. Our next course of action should be to stay here until one of us is brave enough to go out there and light the stove."

"It's pretty cold," he said tentatively. Instead of moving closer to me, he pulled away, shivering. I could tell, on top of everything else, he wasn't doing too well, emotionally.

Turning in the bed, I watched his face, seeing the expression change from upset to stone in a moment. "I don't know what you're trying to hard to hide from me, Sam. Remember the old days when we used to talk about everything?"

"Things change," he said, wistfully, I thought. His eyes were focused on the ceiling.

"Maybe-but people don't. You haven't changed, Sam. You still care about people-and you still care about me." He swallowed hard at that, a single tear rolling down the side of his face and hitting the pillow. "Maybe, in a small way, we can use the time we have here to reacquaint ourselves with the part of us that's new. How's that sound?"

"Good." The word was small and choked. I ached to reach out and hold him close to me, and finally gave into the impulse. Instead of trying to pull away, he practically melted in my arms, holding me against him tight. "I love you, Al," he said, the words muffled in my chest.

"I know, I know," I soothed. "It's okay. Why don't we get up and try to make this place civilized?" He nodded at that, looking a little embarrassed as he reluctantly broke the embrace. In my small way, I hoped that I could take that look right off his face and make him comfortable with me again.

When he went to the outhouse and pump to clean up and do his morning thing, I pulled my lazy butt from the bed, made up the sheets, and stoked the stove until it practically glowed from the heat it was putting out. There was plenty of wood stacked near it, but I knew we'd have to go out and make good use of that ax I'd seen by the front door. I took the one dented pot I'd washed out the night before and heated some of the water I'd hauled in it for tea. Sam liked that in the morning, I remembered.

Strangely, it gave me a warm feeling, thinking of cooking him a meal, or even making a simple cup of orange spice. It was almost like what I'd felt when I'd seen Michael kissing him all those weeks ago. I hadn't forgotten the hard on I'd had, or what that sight had stirred deep inside me. I wasn't gay by any means, but maybe I was attracted to Sam.

Attracted to Sam? Shivering, I pulled the blanket around me closer, wondering about that thought. In all my years I'd never been really attracted to men-knew what was good looking, what wasn't-and Sam was attractive. Damned so. Tina used to say she was within a minute of grabbing his ass-I even think she'd done it on one occasion.

As I recalled the memory, I remembered that Sam's reaction had been given with good humor, making a grab for my girl as well.

Going to the doorway, I wondered what was keeping Sam. I still wasn't too sure of his state of mind and didn't want him to think I was spying on his every movement. That bastard Michael in New Mexico had had him so under control, I could only imagine what he might think if I started following him around.

Pulling the blanket over my shoulders, I blinked past the light rain. It was just beginning to let up, the sun starting to peek out from the clouds again. At the crest of the hill, just next to the well pump, Sam was washing, using some large old bucket full of probably ice cold water. He didn't seem to mind, stripped to the waist, the sun catching on every drop that touched his body and splashed against his jeans. I'd never looked at the kid in quite this way before.

What struck me the most was his unconscious beauty as he bathed, not noticing me, or the world around him, or...as I realized with growing wonder...what an incredibly beautiful man he was.

_**Sam:**_

The water from the pump was brown at first, even after the pumping Al had given it the night before. I worked at it until it ran clear and cold, delicious and as fresh as a mountain spring. I couldn't drink enough of it. I decided to forego shaving until I got some hot water to do that with, opting to bathe from the water I pumped into the bucket.

The water was like ice, but I soon grew used to the refreshing quality, sweeping great handfuls of it up and over my body, using the bar of soap that Al had thoughtfully left near the well. It was Ivory, so it wouldn't mess up the environment in the least. Just as I was about to finish up, I saw him out of the corner of my eye.

He was watching me from the house, a blanket pulled over his shoulders. I was almost sure that he was trying to do it in such a way so I wouldn't see him. The expression in his eyes was a combination of longing and great love.

Careful to disguise my emotion at this discovery, I completed my wash up and put the things up for Al to use. Turning to the cabin, I noticed that he'd gone back in, as fast as possible. Jerking my shirt over my head, I squared my jaw, knowing it was time to finally get it all out in the open. What I'd seen in his beautiful eyes was attraction, and I wasn't about to let this pass anymore.

All the way to this cabin I'd noticed the guarded looks-and the undisguised jealousy he'd shown every single time I was near Stan. It was time, I decided, to put up or shut up.

Or put out.

Inside, he was fully dressed, stirring something over the woodstove that smelled suspiciously of oatmeal. Looking up, I could see how quiet his face was, the expression he used when he was trying to keep something from me.

"Thought I'd cook up something warm. It's damned cold out there." Glancing up, he tried to grin at me. "Is it still raining?"

"Clearing up," I said, going over and easing him away from the stove. I kept a steady pressure on one of his arms, levelling him with my eyes. If I could keep his eyes even with mine, I'd know if he was telling the truth or a lie. "The sun is coming out. I need to ask you something."

"If it's about the Project, kid, I know just about as much as you ..."

"No, it's not about that. I want to know..." God, this was harder than I thought it would be. Taking a deep breath, I continued. "Do you love me?"

His cheeks reddened a touch, but, other than that, there was no reaction. "Yes," he said, his voice suddenly quiet and very serious. "I love you, Sam."

I hadn't expected the truth, but there was more here than just a friendship-or, at least, that was what I was hoping for. His grip was intensifying, minutely, but enough so I knew he was there. "I ...I need to know how much. Really."

Silence hung between us a moment, my heart beating loud in my ears as I waited for his answer to that bluntly put question. "What do you want me to say?" he finally replied. "I can't..."

"You can't tell me the truth? You can't tell me that the look you were giving me out there while I washed wasn't something a little more than...fatherly?" Without realizing it, I heard my voice break. I was almost pleading with him. "I saw you Al. The only thing missing was a twenty-four carat hard on, but my eyes were full of soap and I missed it."

"Sam...you really don't understand, kid." Bringing his hand up, he gently patted my cheek, then soothed the hand over my hair briefly before letting it drop. In all the years I knew him I'd never had that much intimate contact with the man. I was afraid of breathing and shattering the moment. "I do love you a lot, Sam," he said finally. Turning around, he pulled the oatmeal off the heat and set it aside so it wouldn't burn. Meeting my eyes again he led me over to the table and sat down across from me with nothing between us but our held hands.

"I know that, Al. What else?"

"You want more, kid. I know that, too. I can be a lot of things to you, but not a lover, Sam. I'm ... I'm sorry." My stomach lurched at that admission but I kept his gaze locked to mine. He wasn't lying. Damn it all, he was telling me the truth, carefully, and with as much compassion as he could manage. At least I wasn't being pitied. "You're the best friend-hell, the only friend I've got left. This is goin' to sound stupid, but I've always thought of you as a son seein' I don't have one of my own."

"Why were you out there watching me like that?" I wanted to see him duck out of that question. More than anything, I'd seen a glimpse of heat in his gaze.

"Sam, when I caught you with Michael, I left with ..." He ducked his head and grinned. "I had a definite problem. It turned me on, I guess. Watching you out there just now I was admiring something of beauty." His voice dropped at that. "You are beautiful, Sam. Good looking, smart. No wonder every single person at the project loved the hell out of you. The women wanted to mother you, the men wanted you for a brother, and I was the lucky guy who had you as a buddy."

"You're saying you love me like a friend, but we could never be anything more." I stated it matter-of-factly. "At least you're being honest."

"There's no other way for me to be. Hell, what do I have to lose? If I was afraid of anyone finding out I had an affair with you this place would be the perfect opportunity for me to do what I wanted. But I don't, Sam. I'm attracted to women-I know something good when I see it and anything like your little display this morning is a turn on."

"I'm glad you liked it," I said, not smiling. Suddenly, I missed Michael and Stan more than anything. Especially, Stan.

"Sam, I'm sorry if you think I was leading you on with a look. I'm confused about a lot of things, but not my orientation." Gently, he turned my face so our eyes met. "Please don't shut me out, kiddo. I'm sorry I can't be what you want, or give you something you want."

Suddenly, it came to me. I'd been more afraid of Al finding out I was gay than almost anything. Of course, I'd been in love with him, still was, but I'd had a terrible fear of his rejection. Al was not rejecting me as a person for my inclination-he was simply telling me the truth-and, in his way, that he would always love me, no matter what.

_**Al:**_

The gears were turning in his head. I'd given him plenty of food for thought. "Tell me you don't hate me, kid," I said softly. I knew I could handle anything but that.

"Of course not, Al," he finally said. His eyes lifted. I saw longing, but no hurt. "I was more afraid you'd hate me." "Never. You taught me with that Tommy kid. Remember?" He nodded shortly. It was a relief to see his memory returning. "Being gay means nothing. It took me a while, but I gave up some of my petty problems and dropped the bigotry shit I was carrying around. Now, what say we have some breakfast?"

The food was hot and filling. I'd bought things that would keep and stretch. Not that we were low on money, but it would be a good precaution to stay in hiding and not go out in public for a while. I was still at a loss as to why the damned Squad had tried to nab us like that. Watching Sam nibble disinterestingly at his breakfast, I wondered what else could be done to keep him safe.

"Why are we up here, Al?"

I almost freaked at how close his statement was to my thoughts. "I don't know," I replied honestly. "I heard a lot of rumors, Sam, around the Project and in some circles that I travel in. General Hopper. Others. They began to ask too many questions about your mental health, and your personal life. When you ran like that..."

"I was a mess, Al." His hazel eyes were drifting out the window. The sun was a memory, rain pouring down the single paned glass. "I wasn't even thinking past impulse. Before I knew it I was at Lawrence's. When you showed up..." He swallowed hard, setting his spoon down next to his cup. "I couldn't handle it. I hated you for what I supposed you did to Michael. Running, it seemed, was my only option."

"We could have talked," I suggested lightly. "I understand your reasons, but I doubt the powers that be did. I don't know how they found out about your ...health. It could have been someone on the staff, overhearing a call I made to Bena, someone we hardly know. All I know is I saw the Squad and knew we'd better run and ask questions later."

"That's what you told me I was wanted for. Questioning." A strange sort of light came over his eyes. "Interrogation?"

"Maybe." I was getting nervous at the turn this conversation was taking. "It could be the bastards want to put you away for good, or just force you to give 'em state secrets. We're safe up here until we can figure out a plan of action."

"I should be thinking about that and not-Michael." His head lifted, eyes meeting mine. "My friend at the beach house. He's been deteriorating, Al. Going downhill fast. I was giving him his meds, making sure he was comfortable. Jan was going to give me next week off to stay with him. He's dying. Stan and I are all he has."

"You barely know him, Sam." I tried not to sound harsh. "How can you bond with someone..." Then I stopped-big time. Every single Leap Sam had been forced into intimate situations with strangers who acted as if they knew him well. "Okay, stupid question. I don't know what to tell you. If you go back to L.A. you'll be grabbed. Arrested or whatever."

"I want to be with him, Al." I could see the light intensify. "I made a promise-and you've never known me to go back on one, do you?"

"No, Sam, I haven't." Something cold was clutching at my heart. "I suppose this has something to do with what I've told you today."

"No, Al." He almost sighed the words. "The world in general-my new world-isn't focused around Project Quantum Leap."

I gaped at that, shut my mouth, then decided I'd better listen to this without comments.

"From the moment you showed up in L.A. I've felt different. I don't hate you, Al. I...care about you as my best friend as someone I trust. Being in love with you for so long made me appreciate your honesty even more than you can know. Working in the clinic, spending time with Stan and Micheal-it's making me realize I'm wasting my time working for the government."

"If the Squad gets their hands on you they'll give you no choice."

"They will if they know that I'll give them nothing. The Project-it didn't work. Ziggy can be used by anyone, Al, as long as it's for safe projects. I programmed her that way. She can't be used for defense. The moment they try that, or any other destructive means, she'll shut down and seal up forever."

"You knew this all along?"

"From the day her programming was finalized in 1995, Al. They can rip my toenails out, threaten to do harm to others. The minute they try to do anything, even with the codes, she'll do what I told you."

"So you'll give 'em Ziggy-for your privacy?" It was all adding up. "Think this will really work?"

"I'm not that naive." He grinned, a shadow of what I remembered, but I was relieved at the gesture. It showed that he was going to live again. "They'll want to question me-you, even Bena Beeks. What they'll find out is that, outside of my media presence, and yours, they won't be able to harm a hair on our heads. I also programmed Zig to do one very important thing. If we should both be out of her range for more than a week the PQL story will be plastered over every single magazine in the country-the world."

The power of the media. "So right about now the two of us should be looking for a stint on Late Night?"

"In a few days." His eyes wandered to the window. "That is unless I can get to her first. I'd rather not be a celebrity, Al. I know you'd hate it. I want a life-with my friends, and with you-and privacy."

"So I am still your friend?"

"God, yes." Reaching across the table, he took my hand. "I need them, Al. I need a home. When the leaping was over, I felt like I belonged nowhere, Al. To no one. I couldn't expect the rest of the world to stop when I was leaping. To make matters worse, I find out that I'm not even the same person-and I was in love with my best friend."

"You don't think Leaping into all those women..."

"Al..." He didn't look pleased, but took the joke in the sense it was offered. "I'm feeling better now," he continued. "More sure of myself. I know what I want now-and what I have to do. For five years I've been doing things for other people with no control over where I go or what I do. It's high time I take my life into my hands and give it back to myself-and you."

"Me?"

"Yes-you gave me five years of your life. I can't see you giving more now when you can be free of PQL and the two of us can make up for the time we lost. Don't you see that I'm doing this for us?"

"You're talking about turning ourselves in?"

"If you want to stay, I'll understand. I can walk down to the main road and catch a car."

"The main road is twenty miles away, Sam." An odd uneasiness was beginning to fill me. "Kiddo, this idea I think you've got is not a good one. As a matter of fact-it's downright bad. We need to discuss this-think it out."

"You really think so?" He sounded disappointed and looked even moreso. Silence ruled for a while as the gears turned. Finally, his head lifted. "Al, my friend is dying of AIDS. Up until about a week ago, Michael-well, he was fine. The medication he was on did it's work until he became immune to it. In the last five days he deteriorated down to what you saw at the...our home. He was a vital, strong, sensitive man. I love him-and I want to be with him and Stan when the worst happens."

_**Sam:**_

The expression on Al's face was tented, worried. I knew he was thinking of me first, as always, wanting to snag me into a sane place where no danger would befall me. One of the reasons I'd wanted Al with me at PQL was the uncanny ability he had to ferret out the worst in people. Nine times out of ten his feeling were dead on.

"Tell me, Al," I said, my own earnest expression locking with his worried one. "Tell me what you feel in your gut."

"My gut tells me that we might be in deep kimchee." Steepling his fingers, he braced his chin on his hands, eyebrows knitting together. "Kiddo, this thing is big. What you tell me about Ziggy-maybe that will be the thing that keeps them from taking you and I to someplace no one will find us, including your friends."

"I made a promise," I said quietly. That made his head snap up. "I don't break promises, Al. I can't-it's not in me. I intend to honor this one. I will be home for Michael and Stan. I love them-and they didn't give a damn who I was when they found me half naked on that beach. Stan would protect me with his life-and you if you decided to spend time with us."

"This isn't a divorce." Al's tone was flat. "This is ...well, I guess to put it lightly, insubordination. You have a contract with the government, and...I've got this commitment to them."

"What about your commitment to me? To our project? To Ziggy? She's our child-in a way." The grimace that crossed Al's face was priceless. "Okay, Al. She's a computer-but she cares, damn it."

"I have to think, Sam." He looked worried and upset. Whatever I was saying was stewing in his head, balancing everything against my safety. "I'm sorry about your friend-I really am. I'll ..."

"If you want to stay up here that's fine," I said quickly. "I won't endanger you if you don't want to go back. I have no choice."

"You've made up your mind," he said quietly. "Damn it, Sam..."

"The rain is letting up," I said. "I have to go use the cellular and call Stan and find out about Michael's condition. If you don't want to go down with me then I'll pack a bag and hike. I won't hold it against you." Al's body was frozen in thought, head leaned against hands as if in prayer. Carefully, I placed one hand against his shoulder, squeezing it once and making the dark eyes come up and look at me with caring and love.

"I know you're worried," I finally said. His hand snaked out and took mine, squeezing it once. "You do love me, Al." Crouching down, I leaned over and kissed him gently on the forehead. He didn't flinch from it, a warm blush spreading over his cheeks.

"Sam..."

"I know, I know." Straightening, I brushed one hand over his face before I moved towards the door. It was so GOOD to feel my friend again, to have him close and know now that he didn't think what I was an abomination or disgusting. What I felt mostly was a lot of pride. Al was terribly pleased with me-and what I'd done. "I'll be right back," I said.

"No more'n five minutes on that thing, kid," he said quickly, businesslike. "Then we'll talk about goin' back, okay?"

_**Al:**_

After ten minutes I got worried. The rain had let up to the point where one wouldn't get drenched out there. Tossing on a coat, I went out and towards the truck. Stopping stark still, I stared at the sight that greeted me as I came around the driver's side.

Sam was crumpled in the seat like an old man, his eyes closed, tracks of tears on the smooth planes of his face. Carefully, I took the cellular from his hands, set it on the floor, and slid in next to him. "Talk to me," I said, like old times. "What's up, kid?"

"Michael's condition has worsened, Al. He could die at any time. Jan is with him-and Stan."

Inwardly, I felt it could be a trick. I didn't know who these people were; I didn't trust them like Sam seemed to. "We need to talk about this," I began.

"I can't talk about it anymore," he replied quickly, stern and demanding. "I need to be with them, Al. My family."

"You've known them for two weeks-a little more than that." It was as much reality as I could give him. From the stubborn look on his face he wasn't buying it. "Your family is Kate and Tom..."

"There's a distinct possibility my brother might not accept what I am, Al. My family...I love them, too. Things have changed, but they will always have a place in my heart. In five years I've managed to break apart and rearrange whatever I knew before. Michael and Stan are 'real' and you are 'real'. Please understand."

"You know," I said, sighing. "I can't refuse you a damned thing."

"I sort of counted on that," he replied, half-apologetically. Both arms wrapped around me tight, a firm hug that spoke volumes. "Thank you, Al."

You had thought I'd given him the world. What I felt I'd done, as we drove down and away from safety, was probably his death-or at the very least, the loss of his freedom. With every mile I drove, we neared L.A. Every time I glanced in Sam's direction I could see the squared jaw, the bright glint in his eyes. This was the man I'd known when PQL started, a guy who was in control-and knew exactly what he wanted and how to get it.

"Geez Sam, that's almost scary." The wry grin I got was a relief. "Two days before you stepped into the damned Accelerator. Two days before." I tried to keep my tone light, remembering those days. "Kiddo, you look like that now; bullheaded and ready to take on the world."

"I think I am," he replied softly. I didn't pull away when he snaked a hand over and rested it on my thigh a moment. There was no intimacy in the expression except what was shared between close friends. Glancing over, my gaze locked with those depthless green eyes and I was lost again. I could no more refuse this man anything than I could if I had a son-and Sam was the equivalent of that and then some. "I've got the best partner in the world," he said, giving into rabid sentiment. "Of course we'll win."

"You keep up that attitude, kid." His grin was a ghost but perfect, confident and thoughtful. The glow of the city was ahead of us-in less than an hour we'd see what kind of team we made-or if they'd split us up for good.

_**Sam:**_

The sight of the beach house was a relief-and Jan's car parked in the spot where Stan usually parked his own vehicle made my heart go into my throat. Al and I had talked long and hard those last few miles-made plans for whatever contingency should happen. One thing was for sure-they'd play hell separating us-or taking me from this place forcibly.

The foyer was silent, dark. The whole house, usually full of light and joy, was subdued and quiet.

"Where is everybody?" Al whispered. "I smell some kind of..."

"Al, if they wanted to nab us, they'd have done it outside in the open before we could run." I was more concerned about what was happening within this house. It was evening, well after six. Usually, Stan would be cooking dinner, or ordering out. Crossing the living room, I heard the sound of voices in the bedroom and breathed a silent sigh of relief.

Just as I was about to enter, someone grabbed me from behind, tossing me to the floor and pinning me there. Glaring up, I focused on Stan's furious expression hovering at eye level. The anger faded instantly as he recognized who I was, replaced with relief and a little worry. His hands moved from where he was gripping my upper arms, nearly lifting me from the floor and enfolding me in an embrace that was welcome and loving. I couldn't have asked for a better homecoming.

"Am I in time?" I whispered in his hair. "Please tell me..."

"He's waiting just for you," he grinned, the dark eyes glittering in the light from the room. He spared Al one glance, apologetic but accepting, I noted. "It's as if he knew you were coming home."

"I got him here as fast as I could," Al said quietly, gravely. "I'm sorry I didn't do it sooner."

"No harm done," Stan said, his smile tight. "Come in."

My arm laced around Stan's waist, I entered their bedroom and went straight to Michael's side. His arms were out for me the second he recognized me, a wide smile spreading over his thin face. Carefully, I hugged him, holding his frail body close as I forced back emotionals. Jan was watching me from the opposite side of the bed, her eyes accented by dark circles.

"I'm not leaving again," I said quickly. "That's a promise, Michael. I'm going to stay and take care of you."

"Take care of Stan," he whispered as I laid him back on the pillow. His eyes were big and brown, staring at me and looking younger than he did already. "Stay with me."

"He's been asking for you constantly," Jan said, sounding a little angry. "Where the hell did you run off to?"

"I didn't have a choice." The look she was giving Al was pure venom. "It wasn't his fault. Jan, this is my friend, Al Calavicci. It's a long story."

"Sam..." Michael was pleading with me, using those expressive eyes. "I want to...alone?"

Reluctantly, the others left us together. For the first time I noticed there were no respirators, nothing to sustain his life when the worst happened. There was no 'if' he lived anymore. The boy I'd met not all that long ago had deteriorated in a minute amount of time, turning him into an old man.

"I made a promise," I began. "Al - he helped me keep it."

"Like always..." he breathed. There was something so totally familiar about his the pale grin he gave me. "Al always helps you. God, Sam. If you only knew..."

"Knew what, Michael?" I almost had to lean forward to catch his words.

"Trust him, Sam. And take care of Stan." He reached out and gripped my arm, then sat up as I pulled him against me. Oddly, he felt stronger, the muscles I held smooth under my hands as I petted his back.

"I barely told you and Stan about Al," I said, breathing the words into his curly hair. "How is it you suddenly know so much?"

"I'm ..."

I leaned away from him, our eyes meeting. It was like one of those off moments, when your eyes play tricks on you. I caught a glimpse of green in his, a play of light in the corner that almost looked like several colors, held by someone in a lightning blue coat. As suddenly as I saw the images, they were gone. I nearly slid off the bed. "Michael...!"

"You have to stay with Stan, keep him going. Al will always be there for you."

Just as suddenly, the image was gone and I was holding Michael in my arms again, a warm weight that was pressing his face against my chest, the tenuous grip on my body failing as quickly as the strength had risen. Gaping, I eased my friend back against the soft pillows.

"Thirsty. Sam?" Michael smiled as I helped him drink.

"Easy." I was still shaking from the moments before. "What happened there?"

"I'm so tired," he whispered, his voice winding down to sleep. Carefully, I pulled the blanket up around his shoulders and fell back in the chair, still trembling, staring at the sleeping man on the bed. For a moment I'd spoke to someone else-and it hadn't been Michael.

_**Al:**_

I knew this place. As I skirted the edge of the deck that wrapped it's way around the cottage, I felt a sense of deja vu that I couldn't shake from my shoulders. When the memory returned, I wished for Ziggy, or that damned handlink to fill in the holes.

It'd been a leap. Part of it-was still vague. I had a touch of the 'Swiss Cheesing' Sam had-still had. Still, the man that lay dying in that house was someone Sam had leaped into, perhaps this very night. The leap had been brief-but I didn't remember the reasoning. A matter of minutes, perhaps.

Sam had been here to help Stan. To help me.

"Uh, Admiral Calavicci?"

Turning, I met the frowning blue eyes confronting me under a mop of blond curls. "Sam said your name was Jan?"

"We met at the clinic. I wondered if you were hungry. There's plenty in the ice box. I'm sorry if I gave you the impression that I was pissed off about something."

There was something bright and good about this person, in as much as the rest of this group was decent. Sam, bless him, usually hooked up with good people. This bunch was no exception. "This is a pretty nice place," I said, leaning against the railing. "Not bad havin' the ocean in your back yard."

"It belonged to Michael's parents. He spent most of his childhood here. It's very peaceful. There's not too many places that can claim that in Los Angeles anymore."

"How bad is he-Michael, I mean?"

"He's dying. This is his...hospice, I supposed. I'm grateful you brought Sam back before he..."

"Sam sort of insisted on it." I tried not to sound peeved about it. "I'm worried about the Squad showing up and taking he and I on a little journey of their choosing."

"What are you talking about? Does this have anything to do with the years he's been missing?"

"You could say that." Her words really didn't surprise me, or startle. Hell, half the world read Time magazine. The name Sam Beckett was renowned. I wondered briefly how they hadn't recognized him. "Someday, Doctor, it will all come out. I was his partner on the experiment-but I'm hoping unlike others who've changed the world, he doesn't want me to do his bio. Hell," I added, with a touch of ego. "I have my own damned book to write."

"I bet you do." Her eyes crinkled into laugh lines. Leaning over the railing, I gave her a good look. I could get to like this lady very much-if I was given enough time to know her better. "I bet you have stories to tell the world, Admiral."

"It's Al," I said smoothly. I knew my usual form of charm wouldn't be the way to win this lady. I had an equal here-someone who was a professional in every sense of the word. Just as I was about to say more, defining what charm I had left after this day, I heard the sound of car doors slamming from the front of the house. My eyes locked with Jan's a split second before I ran towards the commotion.

"Feds," I breathed, frozen to the spot as men in suits approached the house. "Shit."

"Easy, Al." Compared to what he'd sounded like a few months ago, Sam sounded completely in control. "I'll handle it. Just stick close, okay?"

_**Sam:**_

The men didn't pull weapons or make demands. What we ended up discovering, after that long night in Stan's and Michael's living room drinking coffee, was that the government had tried to use Ziggy. When I and Al had disappeared a full scale manhunt was begun, ending this evening when we were detected in the beach house.

We were not under arrest, but they had a ton of questions to ask us. As pointed out by Weston Adams, one of the main people in charge of secret projects, we were in possession of secrets and those plans and especially Ziggy had to be kept safe.

I was vaguely aware of Stan and Jan's scrutiny-protectiveness. All I wanted was to take my friends away and safe. This wasn't the place for safety. I thanked God for Al's controlled presence as I spelled out to Adams what I'd done to Ziggy-and my plans for the future.

It was exactly as I'd told Al. Adams wasn't pleased, not by a long shot, but realized there wasn't much room to fight me on it. For a change, I was in control. It was intoxicating, but not so much that I wanted to stay in this particular 'place' forever. Controlling experiments and government programs was not on my agenda anymore.

"I'm going to have a life, Mr. Adams. I'll do what I can to wrap up Project Quantum Leap nice and neat from this location. I signed a privacy act-and if you check my clearance you will discover that my lips will not only stay sealed but PQL will be treated as if...well, as if it never happened."

"You will be certain of that," Adams said sharply. "There still are a few questions..."

"Dr. Beckett's friend is dying," Al said quietly, speaking for the first time. With a start, I realized I'd been the one steering the men we feared so much. "This is not the time or the place. Once things have settled down, and we start with the wrap up of PQL, he can answer any questions you have then."

Thankfully, the men left. I was almost shocked.

"That was too easy," Al muttered, echoing my thoughts.

"I know what they'll do," I said quietly. "They'll take Ziggy and discover everything I told them is true. They can't use her for defense or killing. PQL - the accelerator never worked-not the way it should have. It wasn't the machinery that was putting us through time, Al. It never was. Once they figure it's a bunch of useless junk..."

"I hope to God they don't make us pay 'em back," Al said darkly. "I just finished payin' off my car."

_**Sam:**_

Strangely, the Squad didn't come back. I didn't think the situation was permanent, and neither did Al. My main concern was Michael and his comfort, taking care of Stan, keeping him from giving up and giving him someone to hold in those odd moments he could be separated from his lover's side. A night later, as we stood vigil, Michael died. I felt his soul go out with the sea, Stan's body stiffening at the moment he left us. Seconds later, the larger man's form fell against mine, crying quietly, but glad in a way, I suppose, that Michael was no longer suffering.

A promise had been made between Stan and Michael, that when the time came, Stan would arrange to take his body back to where he'd been born-in Carmel. Bury him with his family-the parents that had loved him, regardless of how he'd chosen to live his life. It was a way, he told me, for Al and I to talk, get our plans together for what we needed to do for our future, for PQL.

Al and I had the house to ourselves. The Squad hadn't even called, probably allowing us time to think over what we would do with PQL. As Stan told me goodbye, that he'd be back in a day or so, I felt Al's eyes watching from the porch, burning with curiosity but keeping his distance. The kiss I gave Stan was touched with tears, holding him close and telling him to come home soon. I felt a certain urgency about that, worried that if he didn't I might be tempted to run again. God, I was so confused.

As soon as the car left, I ran out to the beach. Al watched but didn't follow, thankfully. I needed time alone, much like Stan told me he did now. As I slid down to the edge of the shore, I let the relative peace of the surf pushing up over my bare feet calm and give me the peace I craved.

I loved Stan. God, I did. Falling back in the sand, I stared up at the darkening sky, just barely dusk, the sun just now a memory. I loved Al. I wanted him, craved the taste, as much as he denyed wanting mine. I could almost imagine what it would be like to make love to him, like in the old days, just after I'd come home from Leaping. The very fantasies that came to mind took me back to that time of innocence, before Michael, before I'd ran and changed myself and my life.

Did I miss that life? I missed Ziggy. I needed to see and speak to her again, make that part of my life whole and clean. End the leaps, do the correlations, preserve the data. With a sudden realization, I knew I had to do that, clean up and close the house that had been Quantum Leap-then start my new life here with Stan.

It was settled. Realizing that was so soothing. The remnants of sun baked warmth soothed some of the strain away. It'd been a long week. Maybe Al and I could even drive to town and talk over the future over dinner. Sitting up, I breathed in the sea air, took one last look at sunset, then felt the hands drop over my shoulders and grip just a touch too tight.

"Sam?"

My throat closed, mouth going dry in a moment. Turning slowly, I stared then scrambled away from the man who had been standing behind me. It couldn't be real. Staring, I felt a wildness in me and a dark, wet thing descend over my soul.

"What is it?" Biting out the words, Michael neared me. His hair was longer than I remembered, it, his hair long and wild, whipping around his face in the wind from the ocean and the night. In two steps, his fingers encircled my wrist and jerked me up from the sand, pulling me close to him. His breath was warm against my cheek, those lips I remembered just brushing my face a moment but not allowing me to pull away. I didn't even struggle. "Miss me?"

"I saw you die." I scrambled out the words, then stared at the forest green madness in his gaze so near to mine. "Your car..."

"It blew up. I didn't. You and him left me for dead, didn't you?"

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I'm so sorry, Michael." The firm control was slipping away.

"I jumped away at the last minute. Knocked me out against the rocks. When I came to my senses the bloke told me the car was totalled and that I was a lucky man." The grip tightened in a way that frightened me. God, I didn't want to go through this again. "You were gone when I went to that home we had. You were gone and so was your ...Admiral."

"I left alone, Michael. I thought you were..." My gaze shifted downward then up suddenly as he pulled me closer and kissed me, his tongue and teeth invading than taking control of my mouth and my reactions. Christ, the buttons were still there for him to push and he knew it.

"That's better, love." His eyes glinted dangerously as he pulled away his hand still curled around my wrist and forcing me towards the house.

"NO," I said abruptly, trying to get out of that grasp. Not in Stan's-our-home. I didn't want him there, invading a place I'd felt safe in.

"But Sam-'Al' is waiting." My breath caught in my throat at the viciousness of his tone. Taking my arm, he pushed me in front of him, towards the house. "It's warm in there," he snapped. "And it's been far too long since we've been together, mate."

As we walked over the threshold, he shoved me down on the thin Oriental carpet and flipped me over onto my back. Falling over my body, Michael took my mouth again, kissing me as I pushed against him. He was still so much stronger than me. Breaking away, he grasped my face with his hands and forced me to turn, the sight greeting my eyes choking me.

Al was near both of us on the floor, his hands tied tightly in front of him, gagged, feet bound together. The expression in his eyes was pure fury and protectiveness. Breathing hard, I tried to go to him. From his experience in Nam I knew that Al hated having his hands tied-it was one of the few things I knew he could only barely tolerate.

"Leave the old man be," Michael whispered. "Let him watch and get his rocks off." His soft tongue came down and licked the back of my neck as I strained to break free from him. "Why the hell are you fighting, Sam? Don't you think you owe me this?"

"Owe you." Turning, I met Michael's mad gaze. "Al didn't kill you. He has nothing to do with this." Resignation filled me-Al was my friend and I loved him. That was part of what I'd decided on the shore, a vow I swore I'd never break. "Let him go and I'll leave with you now." I knew in my heart if he refused to free Al he'd kill him and I'd follow.

"Oh, Sam." Michael slammed me back to the floor, pinning me with his body and the anger he felt towards both of us. "The Admiral likes to watch. He had a nice big stiffy watching the two of us kiss back at our house." Grinning, he gave Al a glance. There was nothing but hate in my friend's eyes, but not denial. "Don't you want to make your old pal feel good, Sammy?"

Grabbing my shoulders, he slammed my head against the floor twice until I saw stars. I cried out once, then stifled it as he jerked on my hair.

"Will you do anything I want, Sam?" Same tone, sweet and demanding. The strength I'd had was fading. All I could do was nod. If I gave him what he wanted, maybe he would let Al live and simply take me with him.

"Very good." His hand came down, tearing down my denim shirt, exposing my chest to the warm air coming in from the open door. "Let's give him the full show, shall we?"

"Michael" I took the man to me, kissed him even though it felt as if I was dying inside to do it. "In the bedroom, alone," I whispered in his ear. I didn't-couldn't-want to do this in front of Al.

"I think not, sweet one." Michael gripped my jaw and shoved the door shut behind him. Lifting me into his arms, I was carried into the guest room and deposited on the bed, ordered to stay there, then left alone until he returned with Al, practically dragging him in and forcing him into a chair. The vantage point was such that he couldn't look away at anything Michael did to me.

What sense was left in my head told me to not let it be a forced sex situation. I couldn't let Al see that. The moment Michael sat on the edge of the bed I felt the danger fall over me, as it had many times before. There would be nothing gentle about this, or loving. I'd be lucky if I was still alive when it was over, if Michael had anything to do with it.

Getting up from the bed, Michael retied Al's hands to the chair, his feet to the legs. In a stroke of some kind of sick decision, he pulled the gag from Al's mouth, probably realizing we were remote enough that if he cried out or screamed it wouldn't matter.

"You bastard." Al's voice was low and hatefilled, his eyes meeting Michael's dead on in a way I wished I could. "There won't be a place, including Hell that you can hide from me if you hurt him."

"How chivalrous!" His hand came up and struck Al's cheek so hard his head slammed back against the chair. Again and again, he hit him until the dark head lolled against his chest, just conscious enough to lock gazes with me and give me a tiny grin. God, Al.

Working over my body, Michael didn't give me a break, kissing me tightly every single time I tried to cry out. Al-God, he kept watching, hating Michael, hating me? I didn't scream in pain, grasping Michael even closer when he pressed in me. Buried my face in the strong shoulder, scented with sweat and madness as he came inside and screamed my name.

Carefully, I wilted against him as I felt my own seed explode from my body against Michael's thigh. Before he could slip from me, I held him close and whispered every word I could in his ear, meaning them in my mind but not my heart. Michael's lips were suddenly soft, blessing against my throat and eyes.

"Good, Sam," he murmured. "Very good." The eyes in front of me glinted dangerously again, but I only reached up and brushed my hand against his cheek as I had in the old days when the madness would take him. "Don't you think Al would like this, too? Give the old man a shot?"

Freezing, I let my hand fall. I couldn't fight, I couldn't run. All I could do was watch - and think.

_**Al:**_

Turning from the damned bastard and what he was doing to Sam would only infuriate him more-and he'd hurt him even worse than what he was doing. As much as Sammy was trying to hide the pain from me, I felt every single thing the animal did to him, and it wasn't all physical. The emotional blackmail, the dominance games-Christ it was in every fucking stroke, every single look he gave the kid. When he was finished and came towards me, I was prepared to fight and even kill him if need be.

Everything narrowed down to that bastard and me. Instead of freeing my hands or feet, as I'd expected, he just reached out, grabbed my shirt, ripped it down and let the hand he done that with fall to my crotch. I kept my gaze locked with his as he stroked, doing nothing more than change the nap of the silk material. I was damned proud of how I could hold down a hard on-if need be.

What I didn't expect was him hurling me, chair and all, onto the floor and tearing my clothing away, pressing his body against mine and biting hard against my mouth, drawing blood. I could taste it, like copper. God, Sam, I prayed. Let him run, now. Run and get help, run and be safe. Please. With a start, I noticed that Sam's eyes locked with mine as I thought that, a sense of kinship and understanding falling between us in that moment. There were tears running down his face, God. He was crying for me.

His hand grappled with the fly of my slacks, sliding the zipper down with an intense slowness. Instead of fighting, I lay like a dead haddock, letting the fucker's jollies fade when he realized I wasn't going to get turned on by his version of sex. Grabbing my cock, he practically twisted it off, causing me to let out one helluva scream of pain. Christ, I'd only felt shit like that in Nam-and it had never been for long. This one didn't know torture-just disfigurement and how to hurt. I knew in a second he was going to kill me and Sam would watch.

Just as sense and sanity left my mind, I saw my boy move from the bed in a smooth blur of legs and arms, flying to the floor and against Michael in a body slam that tore the bastard off of me. The explosion deafened me, then the sight, at eye level, those dark green eyes staring at me, devoid of life. There was the smell of blood again, then silence, just Sam's breathing and a choked sob.

"Al..." Falling next to me, he touched my arm, then my face, tears from his eyes splashing onto my skin. "I'm sorry, Michael," he whispered to the form by my side. "I killed you twice."

"No, Sam," I breathed, reaching up for him and gathering his breaking body close to mine. "No, only once." With what I had left I lifted myself and kissed his cheek, bringing forth a fresh torrent of pain from his chest. "I love you, kid," I managed, then let the darkness take me.

Coming to was difficult. The bed I lay on was warm, covered by the clean blanket. "Dr. Beckett is fine, Admiral. He saved your life just moments before we got here."

"What the hell is going on?" I gasped, trying again to sit up. "Sam?"

"Right here." He was at my shoulder, smiling gently at the man in uniform that had spoke to me, the kid dressed in a robe and jeans. That's when I noticed the smell of blood, some streaked on Sam's arm, his chin.

_**Sam:**_

Froze to the bed where he'd left me as a obedient audience, I watched in docility as he started hurting Al. A strange coldness took over. I'd felt this. Al was screaming. Al was hurting. It was Micheal-and he was laughing as tore at my friend's body. One second...God. Al's eyes were like love and liquid, staring at me and pleading me to run with his lips mouthing the words. Protecting me.

Protect. I had to protect, Al even if it meant damning my soul. Murder, even in self defense, was murder-but I had to protect-protect Al. As all of Michael's attention was riveted on hurting Al, I slid open the drawer by the bed, taking out the gun that was in there. Stan told me once it was there to protect us.

I let anger and fury propel me from the bed to tear him from Al. God, I had loved him once. Looking down into his mad face, that grimace mocking me, daring...I knew I had no choice. Kill or see Al die-and then die myself. What would Stan do with both I and his other love gone? As sudden as his attack, as sudden as knowing he was alive and that I hated him now, the gun exploded in my hand. The forest green eyes widened in surprise as he fell against Al, rolling over onto the floor in a pool of his own blood.

Holding Al against me, I felt the two of us come full circle, the tender kiss he planted on my cheek clutching at my soul and my heart. Just as quickly, consciousness left him. In an instant, I pulled his clothing together and took him to another room. He'd passed out, thankfully, from the pain Michael was inflicting on him. Just as I slipped into a pair of jeans and prepared to call the police, the Squad arrived.

They'd been on what they told us later was a routine check. Seemed they'd respected our privacy, only occasionally watching out to make sure we were safe and well. Thank God. I and Al were more important than we realized-they only wanted to keep us from any danger. Standard stuff, Al said later. They took Michael's body away, cleaned up the blood. I still felt that in my soul, killing anyone, even him, was wrong. Questions would be asked, I was told, but to them it was all cut and dried. I'd killed a wanted felon, at least in England-and a known danger. It had been self defense. All their words of my innocence only embittered the sick taste in my mouth. No matter what, his death would eat at my soul for a long time to come.

"I know what you're thinking, Sam," Al said as the Squad left, promising to return later to give the two of us a lift to New Mexico. I had to finish things there...and see what happened with Al and I.

"You always say you're a psychic when it comes to me, Al." I half grinned, feeling the shake in my voice and seeing it in my fingers as his warm hands closed around mine.

"It was him or me, Sam. You saved my life. Christ, I'm gonna owe you something terrible."

Half-laughing, I choked out a sob and buried my head against his shoulder, letting him pull me in and hold me close against his body with no reservations. "I love you, Al," I said.

For what seemed like hours, we talked, we laughed, we got a lot of stuff out. What would happen, I had no idea. My plans were still the way they'd been before. New Mexico, end PQL, then return to Stan.

But, Al. Christ. In the pre-dawn light, when the conversation had dwindled to simple quiet companionship, I wondered again. In his eyes I saw my original fantasy about making love to him. I wondered if that wish would ever come true. I wasn't the Sam Beckett that had stepped into the accelerator-not anymore. I was a Sam Beckett that could kill now, and love a man - two men - more than life.

And I was more confused than ever. Time would tell, as Al said, time would tell.

End.


End file.
